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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139324">Something Like a Normal Life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosRising451/pseuds/ChaosRising451'>ChaosRising451</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Heavy Rain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abandonment Issues, Accidental Cuddling, Addiction, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blake is in this for like one scene but that asshole doesn’t deserve a tag so, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Ethan is the Original Disaster Bi, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Just All the Fluff All the Time, Loneliness, M/M, Madison Has a Girlfriend, Might Be Sex Later if I Can Write it Properly, Mutual Pining, Norman Jayden Deserved Better, Norman is Great With Kids, Norman is a Gay Emo Disaster in this and I Love Him, Norman's Parents Were Abusive Shits, Northan, Oblivious Ethan Mars, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Ideation, Vomiting, With lots of comfort, Withdrawal, touch starvation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:41:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosRising451/pseuds/ChaosRising451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after the Origami Killer's death, Norman Jayden's resignation from the FBI is in full effect, withdrawal is eating him alive, and he's quite literally at the end of his rope. But when you're in a hole, sometimes hitting rock bottom is a prerequisite for getting out. Updates every week, schedule permitting.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Norman Jayden/Ethan Mars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Kickin' It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I’m a British person attempting to write Americans. If any phrases sound weird, or something just screams "an American would never say that!" just let me know in the comments and I’ll fix it.</p><p> </p><p>So I got through playing Heavy Rain for the first time a few days ago, and absolutely loved Norman. The fact he doesn't really get a happy ending in-game inspired me to write him one.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ex-Special Agent Norman Jayden groaned weakly, prising his eyes open. He was lying on his hotel room floor, mouth like sandpaper and every inch of him aching from withdrawal. He choked out a cough and tried to rise, but his battered limbs wouldn’t support him; Norman groaned miserably as fresh cramps twisted his muscles, letting his head drop back to the floor and pressing his face into the carpet until the scratchy material burned against his cheek. The sharp pain helped distract from the charley horses galloping up his back — before nausea suddenly engulfed him, bile flooding his mouth.</p><p>Norman made a panicked noise and wrenched himself up onto his elbows, ignoring his screaming muscles as he turned his head just in time to be violently sick.</p><p>
  <em>Just let it happen. Stay still. If you fall down, you’ll choke an’ suffocate. Stay still.</em>
</p><p>He steadied himself internally and held himself still, squeezing his eyes shut as bile burned up his nose and trying just to relax until it eventually stopped.</p><p>He remained frozen in place for a few moments afterwards, panting, waiting for his stomach to stop churning before attempting to move. The room felt like an icebox; he gritted his teeth to stop them rattling, grimaced when his shirt and pants and hair stuck to his skin with sweat as he moved. Some vague part of his mind noted that he should change, have a hot shower and crawl into bed before the combination of rain-damp clothes and Tripto sweats landed him with pneumonia.</p><p>Norman tested his leg muscles gingerly against the carpet, but his knees were like jelly, refusing to lock long enough to hold him up. His elbows were already shaking with the effort of supporting his torso; he levered himself over with difficulty to drop onto his side, groaning as his battered muscles hit the floor again. At least now if he passed out, he wouldn’t wake up in his own vomit. He gave a croaky chuckle at the thought, wiping a hand across his mouth and grimacing against the aftertaste. Passing out in your own puke usually meant you didn’t wake up after, unless you were lucky enough to land with a nostril or the side of your mouth free.</p><p>
  <em>Fucking junkies. Useless, pathetic shits, the lot of ‘em. All the same; they make their own mess, and they don’t want helped outta it, neither. They all end up the same: dead in their own vomit.</em>
</p><p>How many times had he heard some variation on that remark from his colleagues at the FDA? From detectives, from beat cops, from Blake? Or was it his father who had said that?</p><p>
  <em>Fuckin’ faggots. Unnatural, disgusting freaks, the lot of ‘em. All the same; they go against nature, then cry about it when someone roughs ‘em up. All end up the same: dead in their own shit ‘n blood.</em>
</p><p>No, that was his father: a beat cop and ex-marine whose hatred for criminals and drug addicts was outstripped only by his hatred for homosexuals. At least Norman had managed to avoid the first of those categories.</p><p>He shut his eyes and just lay on his back for a few moments, panting, trying to gather the strength to get up. Memories of the last time he’d left home flashed into his mind unbidden, out of order and fuzzy at the edges. His possessions, broken and shredded, scattered around the driveway in the grey fall light. His mother, shaking her head despairingly and weeping into a kitchen towel. His father, face purple with rage, lifting him off the floor by the collar and throwing him out the door, bellowing at him not to come back, that a filthy, disease-ridden faggot was no son of his. That goddamn porn magazine, lying innocently in the middle of the kitchen table after his father had gone snooping, wanting to borrow some money, and had pulled it out from beneath Norman’s mattress.</p><p>The real irony was that if he’d just torn the covers off and slipped the magazine inside a copy of <em>FHM</em> or <em>Playboy</em>, nothing would have happened. His father wouldn’t have so much as mentioned it; hell, there would probably have been more dirty magazines intended for straight men beside the first the next time he’d reached for it. He could’ve stayed at home until he’d finished college, wouldn’t have had to grab the first job he could find straight after graduation to be able to eat. Wouldn’t have joined the FBI; wouldn’t have been so desperate for promotion and to prove himself out of fear of losing his job; wouldn’t have joined the ARI programme when offered a place. Wouldn’t have gotten hooked on Triptocaine. Wouldn’t be here now, puking his guts out on a hotel room floor and praying he survived the night, because there was no-one to call, no-one to come and help him no matter how bad things got.</p><p>
  <em>Wish you could see me now, Pa. ‘Two outta three ain’t bad’. How fuckin' disappointed would you be, old man.</em>
</p><p>Norman’s vision was blurred when he opened his eyes again, the room spinning when he tried to move. He shut his eyes with a groan and forced himself up onto his hands and knees, aiming for the bathroom. If he could just get to the shower, splash some water on his face he’d be alright...He managed to crawl a few paces before his elbows gave out, and the floor rushed up to meet him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He came to again to a searing pain in his nose and something sticky and wet clogging his nostrils, making it difficult to breath. He gave an involuntary whimper and heaved a gulp of air through his mouth, rolling onto his side and trying desperately just to breathe. There was blood coating his face, running into his mouth, hot and coppery; he spat it out instinctively, groaning as the motion made white-hot pain explode across his face. Norman swallowed a fresh globule of blood and blinked his eyes open, gasping. His vision was still so blurry that all he could see was vague blobs of colour against a wash of grey; he shut his eyes with a quiet sob and fought to keep himself together. Blurry vision was normal during withdrawal, and it was a damn sight better than seeing things — he grimaced as a wave of chills hit him, curling up tight despite himself in a bid to conserve heat. “D-Dammit...”</p><p><em>This’s never gonna stop, is it? This is me now </em>— <em>after everythin’, even when I was careful with the ARI, even after I kicked Tripto the first time, even when I fuckin’ </em>stopped —<em> it wasn’t enough. I’m never gonna get out of this.</em></p><p>He made a choked noise and curled up tighter, pulling his arms over his head and willing himself just to pass out, to sleep, to...to just not wake up again. This wasn’t living, it hadn’t been for almost four years — ever since he’d put on those fucking glasses. Childhood trauma, low frustration threshold, perfectionism, social anxiety, social isolation, workaholism, high natural sensitivity to psychoactive substances — everything about him made him the perfect foil, the perfect test subject, and the perfect victim, for ARI and for Triptocaine. He’d been screwed from the start.</p><p>Norman choked out a sob and blinked his eyes open, bringing his arms down to hug himself as he willed the swirling blobs in front of him to pull back together into shapes. He knew of others in the ARI programme who’d used it so much they started to see things from it permanently, glasses or no glasses. New England forests and transparent baseballs and miniature tanks, following them everywhere they went until the hallucinations drove them mad. He hadn’t reached that point yet, had never reached it, <em>would</em> never reach it now that he’d resigned and turned ARI in, glasses and glove and all, along with his badge. There was some small comfort to be found in that, even if the Triptocaine was still destroying his body and brain. He shivered and hugged himself tighter, squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to escape.</p><p>How long had it been since he’d been hugged by another person? Felt something that wasn’t a collegiate, clinical pat on the shoulder, or a punch, or the grasp and shove and rhythmic, mindless pounding of an anonymous sexual encounter? He was 26; four years away from 30. Four years away from when most people were settling down and buying a house and partnering up with someone. Four years away from when most people had already done most of their living.</p><p>What did he have to show for himself? Good high school grades and a great college degree; a ‘preternatural aptitude’ for profiling and detective work even without ARI, and a ‘bright and promising’ career — until he’d fucked it all up, let the extra hours he’d spent in ARI, those last couple tubes of Tripto go to his head and accused Blake of being the Origami Killer with barely a shred of evidence. Norman cringed at the memory, shaking his head instinctively to dislodge it. Don’t think about it, think about something else. Anything else. What else? Was there even anything else?</p><p>An eight-year estrangement from his family; a few friends scattered across states, none of them close enough to contact regularly or keep up with; a succession of partners who wanted nothing more to do with him beyond a quick fuck; no home to speak of outside a suitcase. Plus successive bunches of colleagues who hated his guts seemingly everywhere he went that wasn’t big and metropolitan enough to lose himself in.</p><p>Norman let himself go limp against the carpet, coughing weakly as the last of the fight went out of him. He didn’t even have a cat or anything that would miss him. He thought with a jolt of Nathaniel, that crazy Jesus-freak Blake had damn near beaten to death at the beginning of the OK investigation. Walking around the man’s filthy, near-empty apartment, he’d felt overwhelmingly sorry for him; had wondered what had happened for this mentally ill, clearly desperate man to have ended up there alone, uncared for and forgotten? It had almost been a blessing that Norman and Blake had arrested the guy when they did; social services had gotten involved soon after, and the man was on his way to getting proper help by the time he’d been discharged from the station.</p><p>Norman wet his lips and shifted slightly, moving until he could see the hotel room door. He’d had a recurring fantasy as a kid of being rescued: of some heroic figure, whoever he’d looked up to at the time, sweeping into his childhood bedroom and taking him away, fixing all his problems and taking him somewhere better. Studying psychology at college had shown him the reasons behind it — only child, shitty parents, poor social skills, isolated, lonely, survival mechanism, hope — but it had never really gone away. There’d been a shift as he’d aged, the identity of his rescuer changing somewhere in his teens from childhood hero to idealised lover, but the root of it remained the same. That was why he was so passionate about saving other people, after all, why he threw his heart and soul and health and sanity into cracking cases and catching bad guys and rescuing drowning kids. Buried in his drive to save the world was a desperate desire to be saved himself. To save himself, from himself, if he could only figure out how.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Norman came to again sometime later, freezing cold and his joints aching savagely. His mind was alarmingly foggy, thoughts disjointed and sluggish; he shook his head with a groan and rubbed a hand across his eyes, wiping his bloody nose on the sleeve of his suit jacket and trying to force his head to clear. It was dark outside by now, the dim glow of streetlamps through the window the only light; the darkness of the room only seemed to make him feel colder.</p><p>Something heavy and black settled in Norman’s stomach, draining the strength from his muscles and the hope from his heart no matter what he did to resist it. There really were no options left for him anymore. The worst of the withdrawal symptoms had eased for now, but they’d come back, they always did. Always would: no matter how long he went without using, he’d go back to it eventually. What kind of a life was that? He had no job, no family, no friends, no nothing — hell, even Nathaniel had religion! What did he have? What value or use was he to anyone when he couldn’t even solve a simple case? He was weary to the bone, everything hurt, and there was no point in carrying on when this was all there was. He still had a few vials of Tripto left, enough to stop the pain entirely and just drift away. End his miserable life once and for all.</p><p>There was a sudden thud on his door, followed by two sets of running feet and high-pitched laughter. Norman blinked, smiled lop-sidedly despite himself at the voices, the sound of a woman’s voice lovingly disciplining what were presumably her children. The contrast was striking; him lying here in the dark, shivering with withdrawal and planning to end his life, while outside a family on vacation made their way back to their room after dinner. Norman sighed sadly and levered himself up to sitting, ignoring how the room spun around him and forcing himself to his feet. He wouldn’t have to walk far to reach the bathroom, and the Tripto would take care of any injuries he gave himself stumbling around. He wondered with a kind of fuzzy detachment why he wasn’t more afraid of dying, realised with a wash of sadness that he’d been feeling like this for a while. Months, years, maybe forever. It had taken being stripped of his work, of routine and structure and social contact and <em>purpose</em> for the feeling to get loud enough for him to heed. But now he was listening, it was all that he could hear.</p><p>“But <em>mom</em>!” There was a sudden, sharp rap on his door and he jumped, staring at it in alarm and half-expecting someone to kick it down. The knock came again, loud and arrhythmic, and seemingly from the middle of the wood. A child. There was a freakin’ kid knocking on his freakin’ door.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake.” Norman sighed, hesitating, before padding over, fumbling to turn on a side light so he didn’t terrify the kid, before opening the door a crack.</p><p>A pair of red-headed boys blinked owlishly up at him, the shorter of the two hiding behind the taller and holding onto his jacket. They couldn’t have been older than six or seven. Norman blinked back, frowning, tugged at his tie in sudden awareness of how awful he probably looked.</p><p>“Er...”</p><p>“Can you see the Washington Monument from your room, mister?”</p><p>“Uh...” He frowned, willing his muddled brain to work. Washington Monument — Philly. Right, OK case, he was in Philly. Washington Monument — tourist attraction — implicated in the Origami murders — popular with kids. Monument was to the North — his room faced North — could he even see the damn thing from his window? Did it matter?</p><p>“Fox, Daniel, c’mon now!” A tall, red-haired woman in heels stepped into view, hovering just behind her children and eyeing Norman warily. He probably looked about as bad as he felt. “You’re keeping the nice man from his dinner. Your dad will be wondering where we are, c’mon.” Okay, he <em>definitely</em> looked as bad as he felt.</p><p>Norman sighed and bent down on his side of the doorway so that he was at the kids’ eye level, forcing the most realistic, carefree smile he could manage and hoping belatedly that he didn’t stink of vomit.</p><p>“I can see it, yeah. I’ve actually been up it; it’s really cool. You should ask your mom to take you sometime.”</p><p>“See, I told you so!” The taller of the two crowed triumphantly, jostling his sibling’s shoulder and beaming at his mother. “Mom we’ve <em>gotta</em> go tomorrow, c’mon! <em>Pleeeeeeease</em>?!” The woman’s shoulders sagged as both children took up the plea, but her eyes were smiling, arm around the shorter boy’s shoulders as she ushered them away from the door.</p><p>“Let’s go see what your dad says, hm? You remember the room number?”</p><p>“Yup! Room 3214!”</p><p>She glanced back at Norman as the kids ran off down the corridor, green eyes guarded beneath her auburn fringe where she looked him up and down. “Sorry about that.”</p><p>“No problem.” He shrugged, smiling tightly, and dropped his gaze, social anxiety knotting his stomach more painfully even than withdrawal. He was excruciatingly aware of his puffy eyes and scratchy voice, the dishevelled suit he’d been wearing for God knew how long, his filthy hair, the stink of sweat and vomit and blood — fuck, he’d forgotten about the blood — on his clothes. It would be a miracle if this woman didn’t call hotel security and have him thrown out, and it wasn’t like he had anywhere to go now that —</p><p>“No, really — thank you, for being so patient with them. This food poisoning thing is just awful, my husband and I have both had it. Last time we’re coming here on vacation, I can tell you that much! Well, g’night!”</p><p>“‘Night.”</p><p>Norman returned her smile lop-sidedly, frowning to himself as the woman walked away.</p><p>
  <em>Food poisoning? She didn’t look at me and immediately think ‘junkie scum, stay the fuck away from my kids’? Guess she ain’t too good at reading people. I hope they’ll be alright, stayin’ here.<br/></em>
</p><p>He closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh, mind already racing with possibilities, options, ways to help.</p><p>
  <em>Room 3214. I could call the front desk, ask they put on extra security for the family on account of the Origami Killer just bein’ caught. Fear of reprisals, copycats, all that stuff. Should still be able to use the FBI angle, they ain’t gonna know I’ve resigned.</em>
</p><p>He thought for a moment, before padding over to the bed, sitting down and picking up the complementary phone. A warm wash of something like calmness, something like stability and confidence and<em> joy</em> enfolded Norman as he spoke with the desk clerk, arranging for all families with young children in the hotel to be notified and provided with extra security in the wake of the Origami Killer’s capture. He was doing what he did best, the only damn thing he was any good at, and it felt incredibly soothing.</p><p>He put down the phone with a smile, shutting his eyes and putting his face in his hands for a moment, wanting to hold onto that warmth, that feeling of purpose and worth for as long as he could. But it faded as quickly as it had come, and he was back in his freezing dark hotel room, that black weight in his gut and the tremors and shooting pains that signalled a fresh round of withdrawal starting to creep into his hands.</p><p>“Shit...”</p><p>He clenched his hands into fists and curled up on the mattress, willing himself to ignore it, begging the damn thing to let up just this once if he only wished hard enough.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t think about it Jayden, think about something else. Think about those dumb kids goin’ up the Washington Monument tomorrow and pissing their parents off. Think about Shaun Mars on the news, going back to school and braggin’ to everyone how he has the best dad in the Universe. I mean he kinda does; that Ethan Mars is one helluva guy. Brave, dedicated, fuckin’ sappy as shit and still somehow has the biggest balls of anyone I’ve ever met, doin’ what he did...</em>
</p><p>This was.<em>..</em>ugh<em>. </em>Good? Bad? He couldn’t really tell anymore. Good in that Ethan Mars was a <em>damned</em> pleasant thing to be thinking about, withdrawal or no withdrawal. Bad in that thinking about the other — obviously straight — man only drove home how lonely he was about as painfully as tire spikes being driven into his gut.</p><p>They’d formed a friendship of sorts in the months after the OK case had been closed, bonding over an appreciation for good beer and their shared experiences during the crisis. Ethan was quiet, patient, about as socially awkward as Norman himself in a different way, and perhaps most notably of all, incredibly kind. He had a way about him that made Norman feel relaxed and accepted and <em>valued</em> in a way he never really had with anyone else. That, and for a 32-year-old house-husband with kids who sat on his ass drawing all day, he was a damned good-looking guy.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I should call him. Them, call them. The Marses. See how Shaun’s doing, check everything’s okay; see if they need anythin’ before I check out.</em>
</p><p>Norman wet his lips and sat up, pain knifing down his back as he did so and making him gasp.</p><p><em>Here it comes. </em>Fuck<em>. Not long now Norman, it’ll all be over soon. Just gotta phone the guy first, make sure the kid’s okay. Make sure they got someone to call if they need it, that’s the most important thing. Mars has a therapist, right? And that reporter, what was her name? Madeline, somethin’-or-other? Ex-wife </em>—</p><p>He groaned as the cramps came back full force, nausea washing through him.</p><p>“Dammit all. Pick up the fuckin’ phone Jayden, y’only need to talk for a couple minutes. Keep it together agent, c’mon.”</p><p>Norman grabbed his cell phone from the table and forced himself to sit straight on the edge of the bed, squinting at the screen as he tried to find Ethan’s number. His vision was slipping in and out of focus, hands trembling and a pounding headache starting up behind his eyes. He swallowed against another wave of nausea and hit the man’s number, thought with a jolt of what he’d do if he needed to vomit during the call. There was always the floor; the thought made him cringe, but there was no guarantee he’d make it to the bathroom before his legs gave out again. He’d have to clean that up after the call, get the place as nice as he could for the housekeepers tomorrow. Probably worth just walking himself out to the river or something after, save some poor bastard from finding him. Even one vial of Tripto in him, and he wouldn’t notice the rain, or the cold.</p><p>“Agent Jayden!” He started at the high-pitched, bubbly voice on the other end of the line, panic spasming in his gut.</p><p>“...Hey, Shaun. How’re you do —” He broke off as a wave of cramps tore up his legs, his arms, his back all at once, breathing tightly through his nose and gritting his teeth against a scream. The kid had demanded his number after Norman and Ethan had gotten friendly, full of questions about police procedure and catching bad guys and clearly suffering from some degree of hero worship. Norman himself had barely done anything to help the investigation, aside from providing evidence to clear Mars’ name after the father had found his son single-handedly, and the killer had taken a swan dive off a crane. Kid was seriously misplacing his admiration.</p><p>Norman put a hand to his aching neck and shut his eyes, fighting to get his thoughts in order long enough to say what he needed to. “...Hey. Sorry, I got a sore throat. Is your Dad there, bud?”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s just ordering dinner. <em>Daaaad</em>, Agent Jayden wants to talk to you!” Norman winced as Shaun’s yell reverberated around his skull, making his teeth rattle. Dinner; his brain locked onto the word for a moment, wondering vaguely when he’d eaten last. His stomach roiled at the thought of food and he shook himself, fighting to stay focussed. Talk to Ethan, make sure he’s got someone to talk to, make sure him and the kid are okay, hang up. Job done.</p><p>“Have you caught any more bad guys, Agent Jayden?” He smiled lop-sidedly despite himself, a pang of sadness going through him at the empty space on the bedside table where his badge used to be.</p><p>“Not yet, buddy. I’m kinda on vacation right now.”</p><p>“Awesome! Where are you going for it?” He repressed a sigh, the smile slipping as he thought of the Triptocaine stashed in his suitcase.</p><p>“Don’t really know yet. Someplace warm, quiet. Someplace I don’t gotta worry about anything anymore. M’lookin’ forward to it.”</p><p>“Can you send us a postcard?” He smiled crookedly despite himself, guilt twisting in his gut for lying to the kid. Ten to one they didn’t sell postcards in...wherever he was going.</p><p>“Sure thing, kid.”</p><p>“Can you — wait, here’s Dad!” He sat up straighter as the phone line rustled, the room tipping suddenly around him. Pain exploded in his joints as he moved, searing through his muscles until his entire body felt like it was on fire.</p><p>Fuck<em>. C’mon Jayden, keep it together...</em></p><p>“—‘lo? Norman, you there?”</p><p>“...Hey, yeah. Sorry.” He paused, panting, pushing a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. He was drenched in sweat, clothes damp against his skin and eyes stinging with salt. “I uh, just phoning to s-see how you’re doing. Everything okay, you...you got everythin’ you need? Shaun okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, we’re fine; doing really good, actually. Shaun’s doing well in school, and I’m back at work full-time; his mother has full custody now, obviously, but I still get to see him on weekends.”</p><p>Norman nodded weakly as the other man rambled on, Ethan’s voice fading in and out past a sudden roaring in his ears. “...probably better this way...homework...routine...can be the fun Dad...always better at that...screwing up responsibilities...big kid myself...an? Norman, you still there?”</p><p>“Huh? Uh, yeah. Sorry, m’not...not f-feelin’ too great right now. You uh, you got someone to talk to? Like —” He broke off as a fresh wave of cramps corkscrewed through his muscles, choking back a groan.</p><p>“Norman?”</p><p>“Just, if you need to? S’important.”</p><p>“You’re not making sense. Are you sick?” He hung his head in relief as the cramps retreated for a few blessed moments, panting, mouth dry and head pounding so hard it felt like his skull was about to crack. The next wave was coming sooner or later; he only had a few minutes to say what he needed to.</p><p>“...Yeah. F-Food poisoning; s’a real trip. Listen —”</p><p>“God, that must be horrible. D’you want me to come over, bring you something —”</p><p>“NO!” He grimaced at the unintended ferocity in the word, tears pricking at his eyes as he gripped a handful of his hair in his free hand, tugging hard to try and force himself to focus. “Ethan y’gotta listen to me! D’you have s-someone...someone you can talk to? When shit gets t-too much?”</p><p>“I — yes, I mean — there’s Dr Dupre, obviously; Madison; Grace; I have a couple of new work colleagues I get along pretty well with...”</p><p>The other man’s voice faded out again as the roaring in Norman’s ears intensified, fresh cramps tearing through his muscles, twisting his stomach, shooting up his neck and across his skull until he was engulfed in pain. He curled up over his knees with a groan, barely had time to register the sensation of falling before the floor rushed up to meet him, jarring his bones and making bile flood up his throat.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. C’mon Jayden, you’re almost there...</em>
</p><p>He swallowed the acid with a grimace, coughing, fumbled for his phone where it lay beside his hand.</p><p>“E-Ethan?” <em>Shit</em>, what was the last thing he had to ask?</p><p>“Norman?! Thank God — hang on, I’m calling an ambulance —”</p><p>“No! No no no, please don’t, don’t, I’ll be alright I swear...” He trailed off, panting for breath, pressed his forehead into the carpet in a bid to steady himself. “M’alright, I swear, just please don’ call anyone, please, please don’t.”</p><p>“If you’re sure...Norman you sound awful, this isn’t like —”</p><p>“Jus’ — just lemme say this. Hear me — hear me out. One second. One second, just don’t hang up.” Norman squeezed his eyes shut and begged his fuzzy, spinning mind to think, to shove everything else aside one last time and focus on what mattered, what needed to be done.</p><p>
  <em>Talk to Ethan, make sure he’s got someone to talk to, make sure him and the kid are okay, hang up.</em>
</p><p>It took far, far longer than it should have for him to mentally parse each item on that list, evaluate it, integrate new information gained, check it off, and move on to the next.</p><p>Talk to Ethan.</p><p><em>“</em>—<em>‘lo? Norman, are you there?”</em></p><p>Done.</p><p>Make sure he’s got someone to talk to.</p><p><em>“I </em>—<em> yes, I mean </em>—<em> there’s Dr Dupre, obviously; Madison; Grace...”</em></p><p>Done.</p><p>Make sure him and the kid are okay.</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, we’re fine; doing really good, actually.”</em>
</p><p>Done.</p><p>...That was it, there wasn’t anything else. He’d asked it all. Norman gave a hollow laugh as fresh tears ran down his cheeks, shutting his eyes and letting his head drop back against the carpet. Typical, staying on the phone long enough to panic the other man when he could’ve just hung up. Just one more screw-up to add to the list.</p><p>“Norman?!” Ethan’s voice sounded different from his usual, relaxed cadence, a raw, steely edge to it he remembered hearing when the other man was searching for his son. “<em>Shit</em> — Norman can you hear me?!”</p><p>“Mmn. I hear you.” He coughed weakly, the strength draining from his limbs as he tried to push himself upright. “M’alright. Don’ worry ‘bout me.”</p><p>He was definitely too weak to move. Norman grimaced and let himself sink back onto the carpet, pillowing his throbbing head on one arm. He could pass out for a couple of hours, get his strength back, grab the Tripto and leave. Job done. The hardest part, calling Ethan, was over. “M’okay. I’ll, uh...let y’go now, yeah? Gonna...gonna sleep f’r a bit. Tell Shaun...t’stay safe, for me. Be careful. Nnngh...l-look after y’self, Ethan. S-Stay safe.”</p><p>He hung up the call, letting his phone drop to the carpet as his eyes slipped closed again. “Help. S’what I should’ve said. Help. Please. Help me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Room Service</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Norman?! <em>Shit</em> — Norman can you hear me?!” Ethan put a hand to his forehead, straining to hear the scratchy voice at the other end of the line.</p><p>“Mmn. I hear you.” There was a cough, followed by the sound of movement and his friend groaning quietly. “M’alright. Don’ worry ‘bout me.”</p><p>He huffed a breath and shook his head, beginning to pace the length of the living room. Something was seriously wrong: no case of food poisoning he’d ever heard of resulted in slurred speech and incoherence, let alone what had sounded like a collapse a few minutes earlier. By rights he should be calling an ambulance, but Norman had been insistent about not phoning for help, and he didn’t want to put the man’s career in jeopardy if it came to that. Heck, he didn’t even know where the other man was right now. As far as he knew Norman was still in town, waiting for Philidelphia PD to tie up some loose ends; the other hadn’t mentioned travelling or changing address the last time they spoke...</p><p>“Listen —”</p><p>He froze as his friend’s voice came through again, Norman sounding exhausted and strangely far away. “M’okay. I’ll, uh...let y’go now, yeah? Gonna...gonna sleep f’r a bit. Tell Shaun...t’stay safe, for me. Be careful. Nnngh...l-look after y’self, Ethan. S-Stay safe.”</p><p>“Norm —”</p><p>There was a thud, followed by rustling; a sudden fuzziness on the line suggested that the phone had been dropped on the other end. “Shit. Norman —”</p><p>“Help. S’what I should’ve said. Help. Please. Help me.”</p><p>“Fuck — Norman?! Norman, can you hear me? Norman!” The only sound was the fuzz of static, and what sounded like laboured breathing. “<em>Dammit</em> all —”</p><p>Ethan pushed a hand through his hair, pacing up and down and fighting to get a grip on himself. The whole situation was so horribly similar to months ago, to Shaun, to — he cut off the thought with a shake of his head, forcing himself to stay calm and <em>think</em>. Norman could have been attacked, he could be having a heart attack — he was only, what, 36 he’d said? Young, but not too young for something like that...An epileptic fit, a seizure, even a stroke after the violence the other man had endured during the Origami case...An old memory flickered suddenly in his mind, of tangled bedsheets and used needles and green eyes staring up at him, unseeing, from a bathroom floor. Ethan grimaced and turned sharply towards the stairs, shaking the memory away. Regardless of what was wrong, Norman was in serious trouble: he had to reach him, fast. What was the name of that damned hotel?!</p><p>“Shaun? Shaun!” His youngest clattered down the stairs a few moments later, blinking at him.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Can you remember the name of the hotel Norman Jayden was staying in? It’s very important.”</p><p>“It’s <em>Agent</em> Jayden Dad, jeez!” Ethan sighed, restraining the urge to roll his eyes.</p><p>“Okay okay, <em>Agent</em> Jayden. Do you remember the name of his hotel?”</p><p>“Um, not really.” The boy thought for a minute, frowning, before his eyes lit up. “Wait!” He clattered back up the stairs, returning a few moments later with a business card and presenting it proudly to his father. “He said he missed the trees, back in Boston. Said we should go there on vacation sometime.”</p><p>The card was a complementary hotel slip, embossed with red and gold leaves. <em>Maple Leaf Hotels, </em>a street address and a phone number were printed on one side, and 'Special Agent Norman Jayden, FBI' and a cell number were scrawled on the other in messy, looping script.</p><p>“Wonderful — Shaun this is fantastic!”</p><p>“Can I have my phone back now?” Ethan blinked, realising that he still had his son’s phone pressed to his ear, laboured breathing faintly audible at the other end.</p><p>“No, not yet — listen, Shaun.” He shoved the device into a hip pocket and took his son by the shoulders, meeting his gaze steadily. “Norm — <em>Agent</em> <em>Jayden</em> needs my help with something very important. It could be dangerous, so —”</p><p>“Is it a case?!” Shaun’s whole face lit up at the idea, and Ethan closed his eyes briefly: the longer he stood here talking, the longer he’d take to reach Norman, but he couldn’t just race off without giving his son an explanation.</p><p>“Yes, that’s exactly what it is. It could be dangerous: Agent Jayden has asked you to stay at home with your mom until we’ve solved it. Okay?”</p><p>“Can’t I help?” Ethan shook his head, smiling ruefully.</p><p>“Sorry kiddo; adults only this time. Did you unpack much of your stuff?”</p><p>“No, I was gonna do it tonight.”</p><p>“Okay. Go get your stuff, quickly; I have to meet Agent Jayden as soon as possible. Hurry.”</p><p>Ethan wiped a hand across his eyes as his son disappeared upstairs, before pressing the phone to his ear again, straining to hear. The other man’s breathing was still audible, sounding hoarse and laboured. He shoved the device into a pocket and grabbed his car keys and coat, lifting the house phone with his free hand to call Grace.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He skidded to a stop outside Norman’s hotel roughly 30 minutes later, hopping out and running for the entrance.</p><p>“Excuse me.” He clattered to a stop at the front desk, a petite, blonde-haired clerk blinking at him with a bored expression. “I need to check on someone. A friend — I think he’s sick. Can you tell me what room he’s in?”</p><p>The clerk — Brenda, according to her name badge — only sighed, looking at him flatly.</p><p>“I’m not at liberty to give out that information, sir.”</p><p>“Please — he could be dying!” Ethan gave her his most beseeching look, the one Grace had complained reminded her of a kicked puppy. Brenda looked back impassively, but he thought he detected a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. He set his jaw and thought quickly, holding the woman’s gaze.</p><p>“Please — Brenda? Brenda listen. My friend Norman has a heart condition: it’s difficult for him to manage it alone, and it gets much worse with stress. He lost his job recently, and he has nowhere else to go — I’d have put him up myself but I’ve barely enough money to feed my son, never mind pay the rent. He rang me today in a helluva state, I’m really worried — please, I...” He trailed off, swallowing hard and blinking against a wave of sudden, very genuine tears. “I can’t lose someone I care about from not paying enough attention, not again. Please.”</p><p>Brenda regarded him for a moment with pursed lips, before glancing over her shoulder, sighing theatrically.</p><p>“What room?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After a short tete-a-tete with Brenda over finding Norman’s room number on the system, and another over her insistence in accompanying Ethan up to it, the pair of them were approaching his friend’s door.</p><p>“You, er, might want to wait outside. I’m not sure what we’ll find.” Brenda only looked at him impassively, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“I’m afraid I’m contractually obligated to accompany you, sir. We get enough weird shit here, I doubt it’s anything I can’t handle.” Ethan raised an eyebrow himself, but didn’t comment further, murmuring a mental apology to his friend as they stopped in front of Norman’s room. Ethan knocked firmly, not expecting an answer, and swiped the keycard, shouldering his way through the door in front of the clerk as he pulled it open.</p><p>“Norman? Norman are you in here?”</p><p>The first thing be noticed was the smell: a sharp tang of vomit mixed with stale sweat. Ethan grimaced and hurried forwards, reaching for the overhead light switch. His friend was lying collapsed at the side of the bed, still fully dressed, a puddle of vomit on the carpet beside him. “Oh no —”</p><p>“Oh my <em>God</em>.” He ignored Brenda and hurried forwards, stepping around the vomit to kneel at Norman’s side.</p><p>“Norman? Norman hey. It’s Ethan. Wake up, please.” He clasped the man’s shoulder and shook gently, putting his free hand to the other’s neck. Relief washed through him to find a pulse, rapid but steady; Ethan released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and lifted the other man into his arms, scanning him for injuries.</p><p>Norman looked terrible. Face grey and gaunt, there was dried blood around his nose and mouth, his clothes stained with vomit and soaked through with sweat. The other man was trembling palpably against him, breathing shallow and laboured where his head lolled against Ethan’s shoulder; he grimaced hard and moved his friend’s hair out of his eyes, laying a hand against Norman’s forehead to check his temperature.</p><p>“Oh my God, he’s a junkie? No, no we don’t tolerate stuff like that here.” Brenda was grimacing and holding her nose with one hand, shaking her head and flapping her other hand in the direction of the door. “This is a premium hotel, for Christsake. He‘s gotta go.”</p><p>Ethan sighed and looked up at her, before digging in his coat pocket for his wallet. The slew of press conferences and television specials he’d been propelled into attending after rescuing Shaun might have been hell for his social anxiety, but he’d been repaid handsomely for the pain. He counted out four 50-dollar bills and proffered them, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“Forget everything you saw here tonight, <em>especially</em> our names and faces, and this’s all yours.” Brenda blinked in surprise, looking between himself and Norman for a moment, before reaching over to take the money, counting it with a frown.</p><p>“Thought you said you were poor.”</p><p>“Ugh.” He reached back into his wallet and tossed her another pair of 50s. So much for that new drawing desk he’d been eyeing for the past week. “Happy?”</p><p>Brenda shrugged, tucking the money into her jeans’ pocket.</p><p>“With what? I never saw anythin’. Oh.” She leaned back around the corner from the entryway, nose wrinkling as she glanced at Norman. “Housekeeping shows up at eight, Wednesday mornings. You might wanna get <em>that</em>”, she gestured to the vomit with her chin, “mopped up before then, unless you want a hundred-dollar cleaning bill.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Ethan dropped her a weak smile, but she was already gone, the door clicking closed behind her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Intercession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Intercession: the act of stepping in on behalf of someone in trouble.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Norman awoke slowly, horribly weak and aching all over. He groaned and shifted slightly, frowned to find himself lying on something soft, naked apart from his boxer-briefs, and surrounded by warm fabric.</p><p>
  <em>What? Where am I? Dead, I guess; that must be it. This’s kinda nice.</em>
</p><p>He shifted onto his side with a moan and buried his face in the duvet, gratitude welling inside him for the warmth, the simple comfort of the mattress beneath his aching muscles.</p><p>A floorboard creaked somewhere nearby and he froze, eyes flashing open. Nothing...the sound came again and he jolted upright, heart hammering.</p><p>“Norman?”</p><p>“Gah!” He threw himself back against the headboard, staring in terror at the blurry form advancing towards him. “<em>Fuck —</em>”</p><p>The bedside table was empty beneath his scrabbling fingers; he gave up on his gun and grabbed the bedside lamp, hefting it at the intruder. “Get outta here before I break your fuckin’ face, asshole!”</p><p>“Norman, Norman it’s okay, it’s me! It’s Ethan!” He paused, frowning; he recognised that voice. “Ethan Mars?!” Norman laid the lamp across his knees and rubbed one eye at a time, keeping the other hand on his weapon just in case, until the world came back into focus.</p><p>Ethan Mars was indeed standing at the end of his bed, hands raised above his shoulders and looking even more alarmed than Norman himself had been a few seconds ago. He sighed relievedly and shook his head, feeling the adrenaline start to drain out of him as he set the lamp back in its proper place.</p><p>“What the <em>fuck</em>, Mars? What‘re you doin’ here?!”</p><p>“Stopping you choking to death on your own vomit, that’s what!”</p><p>There was an awkward silence.</p><p>“Uh...” Norman blinked, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself; he’d never heard Ethan lose his cool before. “Okay? Thanks, I guess?” The other man only shook his head with a sigh, wiping a hand across his eyes. There was a pause; Ethan sat down on the mattress beside him, and Norman shifted uncomfortably and pulled the sheets up around his waist, searching beneath his pillow for his gun. The gun he no longer had, since turning it in along with his badge during his resignation. Great.</p><p>“What d’you remember, about last night?” Norman’s stomach jumped with alarm, the ludicrous thought flashing into his mind that they’d somehow had sex, before the smell of his own hair reminded him he wasn’t exactly Dreamboat material right now. He frowned and shook his head, trying to get his jumbled thoughts in order. With the last of the adrenaline fading, Ethan was just Ethan: slightly dorky, early-30s single father with social anxiety. Not a threat whatsoever, and definitely not interested in him sexually.</p><p>“...Uh, not much? Gimme a minute, I’m still kinda waking up here.”</p><p>“D’you want some water?” Norman blinked, surprised by the offer, before nodding.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah that’d be great. Thanks.”</p><p>“That’s okay.”</p><p>His head started to clear properly in the time it took Ethan to fetch a glass of water from the bathroom, enough for Norman to remember flashes of what had happened last night, but not enough to explain anything about their current situation. The gaps in his memory, usually so reliably populated with incidental details and day-to-day minutia as well as major data relating to a case or his personal life, were frightening. To top it off, his body felt so weak there was no way he’d be walking anytime soon. Norman swallowed hard and wiped a hand across his eyes, grimacing. His best option was just to sit tight and assess things for now, see what Ethan had to say before jumping to any more panicked conclusions.</p><p>He lifted his head as the other man re-entered the room and tried for a friendly smile, guilt piercing him at the hesitancy in Ethan’s movements as he sat back down and passed him the glass.</p><p>“Sorry...FBI reflexes. I, uh, kinda thought I was dead when I woke up, so...” He trailed off at the other’s alarmed expression, dropping his gaze as embarrassment washed through him. “Just...I mean...er...”</p><p>“Withdrawal.” He looked up with a start, feeling his eyes widen. Ethan was looking at him seriously, blue eyes meeting his own. “I’m not stupid, Jayden. I know what Tripto sickness looks like.”</p><p>
  <em>Ouch, back on last-name terms, huh?</em>
</p><p>“Oh.” Norman nodded, dropping his gaze to the glass in his hands. “Right. I, uh...”</p><p>“What’re you thinking, going through this by yourself?!” Ethan’s expression was earnest, his blue eyes pained when Norman glanced up at him again. “I understand you’re worried about your job, but you should’ve at least <em>told</em> someone, even if —”</p><p>“Yeah well, not the kinda thing you wanna go spreadin’ around, is it?!” Norman clenched his jaw and shook his head, fresh shame washing through him. “Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn’t be yellin’. Look, I appreciate you helping me out, really, but I’m alright now. I’m handlin’ it. You should get back to your son.”</p><p>“Right, because lying passed out in your own vomit counts as ‘handling it’.”</p><p>Norman cringed and looked away again, taking a gulp of water and suddenly wishing he could put a shirt on, get up and move, do <em>something</em> to stop him feeling so exposed beneath the other man’s gaze. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose against the beginning of a dehydration headache, slumping back against the headboard as a wave of tiredness swept through him.</p><p>“What’re you doin’ here, Ethan? How the fuck’d you even get in?”</p><p>
  <em>Probably because you left the door open, idiot.</em>
</p><p>The other man shrugged, shifting on the mattress beside him. “You called me. Well, more accurately you called Shaun.”</p><p>“What?” Norman frowned, a fuzzy memory of Shaun asking if he’d caught any more bad guys mixing in with the Washington Monument and a woman with long red hair. Shit, what the hell had he even said to the kid? “Shit, sorry. I got his number saved right next to yours, I didn’t mean to —”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Ethan shook his head, frowning like he didn’t understand what Norman was apologising for. “To be honest, it’s a good thing you called him; I might never have heard my phone from downstairs. You —”</p><p>“I didn’t...didn’t freak him out or nothin’, did I?”</p><p>“What, no. You’re like his hero, he loves hearing from...” Ethan trailed off, understanding catching in his eyes. “Oh. No. No, not at all. It was just...just later in the call, with me. You weren’t making sense, started slurring your words — I was going to call an ambulance, but you were really...insistent you didn’t want me to do that. I got the name of your hotel from the card you gave Shaun, then the girl on the desk, Brenda, she let me into your room. You...you were in pretty bad shape, but it didn’t seem like you needed a hospital...I figured I should wait and see how you were before I called someone. Got you cleaned up some and into bed, and the rest I guess you know. You’ve been asleep for around two hours.”</p><p>Norman nodded weakly, relief crashing through him as some of the blank spaces in his memory were filled in.</p><p>“Right. Right, that’s...that’s good.” He wiped a hand across his eyes, taking another sip of water before meeting Ethan’s gaze. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all that.”</p><p>“No problem; I’m just doing what anyone would.” He gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head and draining the last of the water.</p><p>“Nah. Most people wouldn’t have bothered.”</p><p>“You would’ve.”</p><p>He frowned, looking up. Ethan frowned himself and nodded, his expression earnest. “If it was me, or anyone else? You wouldn’t have thought twice about trying to help.” Norman only smiled lop-sidedly and looked at his hands, setting the glass on the side.</p><p>“Yeah, well. S’my job, ain’t it?”</p><p>“D’you want some more water?” He blinked, looked up to find Ethan holding the glass.</p><p>“Oh, uh, sure. Thanks.”</p><p>“No problem. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Norman massaged his temple for a moment as the other man disappeared into the bathroom, grimaced at the feeling of his hair lying lank across his forehead. He desperately needed a shower, but there was no way he’d be able to stand up long enough to make that happen. Crawling to the bathroom and showering sitting down was always an option; he felt strong enough to manage that now, even if it would probably wipe him out for the next couple of hours. His stomach twisted painfully, and he was suddenly conscious of a ravenous hunger, cursed his body for making so many demands and simultaneously leaving him unable to fulfil them.</p><p>First things first: he had to get rid of Mars if he wanted to shower with any degree of dignity. Food could wait; right now he needed to get himself clean.</p><p>“Really, Ethan, you can go. I’m okay. You must be worried sick, leavin’ Shaun home alone.” He felt mildly sick himself at the unintentional manipulation, but it was better this way: the guy needed to be with his kid, not worrying over Norman’s junkie ass.</p><p>“Shaun’s at his mother’s. I dropped him off on the way over.” The other man emerged from the bathroom with a smile, padding over and sitting back down to pass him the water. “She has full custody now anyway, so it’s probably easier for him, to be honest. I mean, if you’d rather be left alone I can go, but...”</p><p>Norman wet his lips nervously, taking a gulp of water and eying the other man over the top of the glass. His every instinct was screaming at him to tell Ethan to leave, to just curl back up inside himself and deal with everything alone. He had no right to burden anyone else with his problems, and people only ever let you down anyway. Better just to deal with things alone without the added disappointment of someone screwing up or leaving right when you needed them the most.</p><p>“I mean...I don’t want to overstep here, but I really do think you should check yourself in somewhere, Norman. Withdrawal can be lethal, you can’t —”</p><p>“Technically only with certain substances.” He shrugged, taking another sip of water. “Alcohol, Opiates, Benzodiazepines. They’re the ones that’ll kill you outright. Tripto’s more just...” He paused, feeling drained at the thought of the endless weeks he’d spent like this: withdrawal, relapse for the sake of a case, for going out in public, for pretending he was normal, withdrawal again, relapse again, the cycle repeating over and over until he despaired of ever getting clean. “Uncomfortable.”</p><p>Ethan raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused at the bland description, and shook his head, clasping Norman’s shoulder companionably. He started at the unexpected contact, something tender and raw tearing open in his chest as the other drew back.</p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t mean to —”</p><p>“S'okay. Just wasn’t expecting it.” He shrugged and swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, desperate for the touch to return. “Nothin’ really hurts anymore; not right now at least.”</p><p>There was a pause, the only sound the swish of traffic on the road outside, and the dripping of the bathroom faucet.</p><p>“Are you hungry? It’s been a while since dinner...” Norman forced a lop-sided smile and nodded, fighting to keep a sudden surge of emotion in check.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah that’d be great. There should be a take-out menu around someplace, my wallet’s on the dresser...if it’s not there, it’ll be in my pants or coat pocket.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it<em>, </em>I’ll pay.”</p><p>“What — I ain’t a charity case, Mars!” Norman frowned, bristling weakly despite himself.</p><p>“Neither am I. I still owe you for those beers last time we met up.” He raised an eyebrow, slumping back against the headboard with a weary sigh.</p><p>“Fine. After this we’ll call it even.”</p><p>Ethan was padding around the room, looking attentively around and moving the junk cluttering various surfaces with far more respect than Norman felt it had any right to receive.</p><p>“Can you — ah, here we go: Chinese take-out menu. What d’you want?” He shrugged, shaking his head.</p><p>“Whatever. Pretty sure I marked stuff on there the last time; any combination of rice and somethin’ with chicken in it is fine.”</p><p>“Can do.”</p><p>Norman lifted his glass and drained the last of the water, considering his options. He really, <em>really</em> didn’t want the humiliation of being assisted in showering, but Ethan didn’t look to be leaving any time soon, and he couldn’t stand to sit here in his own filth for much longer. Mars was a perceptive guy, and more sensitive than most; there had to be a way of doing this with as little embarrassment for both of them as possible.</p><p>“Hey, uh, Ethan?”</p><p>“Yeah?” The other turned to look at him, take-out menu in one hand and cell phone in the other. “You okay?” He frowned, wrong-footed by the question.</p><p>“Yeah, m’fine. Just, uh, thinkin’ I might take a shower.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>The other man resumed ordering food; Norman sighed quietly with relief and swung his legs out of bed, grateful for the privacy. He set his feet on the floor, testing his knees gingerly; he definitely had more strength in his limbs than two hours ago, but —</p><p>He swore as his legs collapsed summarily beneath him when he tried to stand, shoulder muscles screaming in protest as he caught himself on the bed and side table respectively.</p><p>“Norman — shit, are you okay?!”</p><p>“Yeah m’fine. M’okay.” He hoisted himself back up onto the mattress, panting from exertion and the pain in his shoulders. Ethan hurried to his side, blue eyes wide and worried where they looked him over.</p><p>“What happened?!”</p><p>“Nothing; tried to stand up and my knees gave out. Guess I won’t be walkin’ anytime soon.”</p><p>“Here.” He blinked as the other man sat down beside him, extending an arm for support. “I’ll walk you to the bathroom; we can figure out something from there.”</p><p>Norman grinned crookedly despite himself, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“If you think I’m gonna let you give me a sponge bath, Mars, you’re barkin’ up the wrong goddamn tree.” Ethan only chuckled and shook his head, pulling Norman’s left arm around his shoulders and locking his own around his back for support.</p><p>“Not likely; the only people I’ve helped bathe in the last 10 years are my kids. D’you think you can stand?”</p><p>They hobbled slowly to the bathroom, Norman biting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning as pain lanced through his body every few steps. It wasn’t withdrawal cramps this time, but pure exhaustion, his muscles either weak or stiff from chronic overuse.</p><p>Ethan settled him carefully on the closed toilet-seat lid and turned the shower on, stood for a moment waiting for the water to warm. Norman took the opportunity to study the other man, taking in his clothing, his posture, his movements, the outline of his body beneath his clothes. Ethan had brightened considerably in all ways during the months since the OK case had been closed. His clothes were more colourful and in better condition, he seemed to stand taller, his eyes were brighter, and he seemed overall happier and more at peace with himself. Norman dropped his gaze to his own hands, pale and bony from malnutrition, and trembling slightly even now. Why couldn’t he get his life together like that, when practically everyone else involved in that damn case seemed to have come out of it better? He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, shaking his head to dispel the thoughts.</p><p>“Right, that’s it warm. Just...well, yell, if you need anything. It’s much better to lose your dignity than hurt yourself, whatever the situation.” Norman raised a sceptical eyebrow, but didn’t reply, biting back a groan of pain as the other man helped him to his feet. “Are you gonna be okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah I’ll be fine.” He managed to hold himself up, with a gargantuan effort and the aid of the wall, until Ethan had left the bathroom, slumping to the floor a moment later and crawling into the walk-in shower. The warm water felt heavenly on his face; he leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes, relief washing through him. "Hah. <em>Man</em> that feels good. Oh thank fuck.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It took a very long time, including numerous rest breaks, for him to get himself properly clean. Ethan knocked lightly on the door at some point to inform him the food had arrived, and Norman took the opportunity to ask the other man for some clean clothes. He rinsed the last of the shampoo from his hair, before slumping back against the wall, shutting his eyes for a moment. Being properly clean was one of those things you took for granted until you couldn’t do it anymore; he wiped both hands down his face to catch the last of the soap suds, found himself smiling properly for the first time in days. Everything was done except towelling dry, and shaving; Norman ran a hand along his stubbly jaw and grimaced, prepared himself for getting to his feet. He was feeling stronger just from being up and about, felt like he could stay upright and walking for a while longer provided he didn’t push himself too hard. He could do one more thing.</p><p>“Norman? You alright?”</p><p>“Yeah! Yeah, I’m good!” He was sitting on the closed toilet-seat lid, body angled towards the mirror; it was taking far less energy and concentration than he’d expected to shave, probably because he was sitting down.</p><p>“I’ve got your clothes here. I’ll just leave them outside the door.”</p><p>“Great; thanks!” He scraped the last of the stubble from his jaw and rinsed his face off, before pushing himself slowly to his feet, cinching the towel around his waist and opening the door.</p><p>A bundle of black fabric was lying on a chair to the right of the bathroom door; he picked it up with a smile, recognising his comfiest pair of skinny jeans, favourite HRC tee-shirt, and green flannel shirt. The jeans weren’t the easiest thing to get on with aching muscles, even sitting down, but they were comfortable enough that the effort was worthwhile. Norman pulled the tee-shirt over his head and shrugged into the shirt, before attempting to style his quickly-drying hair, ultimately settling for having it pushed off his face and reasonably flat.</p><p>He paused to take stock of himself in the mirror, grinning lop-sidedly; cleaned up and moderately rested, he didn’t actually look that bad. More careworn than the average guy his age maybe, but there was a light in his own eyes he couldn’t remember seeing for a very long time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Catch-Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I managed to play through the entire game twice, and write 8 chapters of this fic, before realising that canonically-speaking Norman is 34, not 26, and Ethan is 38, not 32. Don't ask me how I managed that, but I've built too much of this story around their fanfictional ages to change it now!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ethan was sitting on the sofa when Norman emerged from the bathroom, boxes of steaming takeaway food crowding the coffee table in front of him, and reading a magazine. The other man glanced up — before doing a very obvious double-take, blue eyes widening as they looked him up and down. If he didn’t know better, Norman would’ve said the guy was checking him out. Sure he was probably more bones than muscle right now, but his ass had always looked good in these jeans. He bit back a smile at the thought and padded over, dropping into the opposite chair and leaning forward to investigate the food.</p><p>“Hey, Chicken Chow Mein! You got my favourite!” Ethan only shrugged, smiling.</p><p>“There were a couple of items on the menu more heavily circled than others, so.”</p><p>“We’ll make a detective outta you yet, Mars.” Norman grinned and dug into the food, his mouth watering with hunger. “<em>Fuck</em> that’s so good. Mmn — looks like you bought up the whole damn shop! What gives?” The other man shrugged, tucking into his own food.</p><p>“I was pretty hungry myself after tonight, and whatever we don’t eat will do for tomorrow. Just seemed more economical to go to town.”</p><p>“Can’t argue with that.”</p><p>They ate in comfortable silence for a while, a light rain pattering against the window on the far side of the room. Norman shifted around until he was sitting sideways in his chair, spine against one arm and legs folded over the other. It wasn’t the most comfortable position for his back, but sitting with his legs jammed under the coffee table had been making his knee joints ache unbearably.</p><p>“I, uh, I hope...those are okay. Your jeans I mean — I couldn’t find anything else.” He paused in spearing a carrot and looked up, raising an eyebrow. Ethan was rubbing the back of his neck, eyes on his food and looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Norman recognised the searing embarrassment of someone whose sentence had sounded perfectly fine in their head, but when spoken had come out inexplicably awkward. He smiled lop-sidedly and shook his head, swinging his legs back onto the floor and crossing them at the knee.</p><p>“They’re fine, thanks. This’s my most-worn pair, so they’re real comfortable.”</p><p>“You seriously don’t own any sweats?” Ethan grinned, shaking his head in disbelief.</p><p>“What? Hell no.” Norman grinned back, pulling a face at the thought; him owning sweatpants would probably make his current problems even worse. Work slacks or jeans made a guy feel respectable, even if he’d just finished puking his guts out. “I only got the one suitcase; gotta justify everything I take.”</p><p>“How can you <em>not</em> justify taking loungewear, then?”</p><p>“Lounge-<em>what</em>?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Jesus; I’m 26, not 40!”</p><p>There was a pause; Norman realised his mistake with a jolt, panic gripping him as Ethan frowned in confusion.</p><p>“I thought you were 36?”</p><p>“I...uh...” He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to his feet, suddenly wishing he could just melt into the floor. “Yeah, I...I uh...” He sighed and shook his head, looking up with a grimace. “Look, I lied, alright? Hard enough gettin’ people to take me seriously in this job without ‘em pegging me for some jumped-up kid fresh outta Quantico.” He broke off, anxiety twisting his stomach; Ethan was frowning deeply at him, as though this new information had broken some kind of unspoken rule between them. “I-I, uh —”</p><p>Norman swallowed hard and stumbled to his feet, searching the dresser for his wallet. It wasn’t there: he muttered a curse and rummaged through the pockets of his coat, pulling out his driver’s license once he’d found it. “Here.”</p><p>Ethan frowned, blinking at him.</p><p>“Wha —”</p><p>“I know you probably don’t believe me, just...m’sorry I lied, alright? Wasn’t...it wasn’t personal or nothin’.” The other man blinked at his license for a second, before handing it back, looking at him with something like concern.</p><p>“It’s fine — I didn’t think it was.” Ethan smiled reassuringly, shaking his head. “I was just thinking how a lot of things make more sense, knowing that. You always seemed more, er...how do I put this. More hopeful, than your colleagues? Less cynical, maybe.”</p><p>Norman chuckled, shaking his head and dropping back into his seat; his knees felt suddenly ready to give out.</p><p>“Eh, m’not sure about that. I just care about the job, y’know? Helpin’ people, catching bad guys, doing what’s right. That’s the whole point.” Ethan nodded slowly, considering. There was silence for a moment.</p><p>“So, how long have you been with the FBI?” Norman smiled, lodging one foot against the coffee table and pulling a face.</p><p>“Uh, ‘officially’? Twelve years. Realistically...about five. It was...” He trailed off, heaving a sigh, wary of getting into his history. “Y’know what, it’s a long story. All you gotta know is, I’m fully trained in what I do, and everything bar the age-thing is completely legit.” Ethan raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced.</p><p>“That...doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence. Don’t get me wrong, I totally believe you can do your job; just...”</p><p>“Secret-service bureaucrats breakin’ the rules is disturbing. I gettit.” Norman smiled, inclining his head. “Y’want the short version, or the long version?”</p><p>“Something tells me the long version is more interesting.”</p><p>He paused, wrong-footed, and scanned the other man’s face attentively; that had sounded almost like flirting. But Ethan was looking placidly back at him, expression open and faintly curious. His hearing must still be shot from withdrawal.</p><p>“Right, uh...sure. I’ll try an’ keep it short — don’t want us to be here all night. So, I graduated college at 21 —”</p><p>“Which school?” He frowned, blinking. Ethan persisted, blue eyes searching his face. “You said you did psychology, but not where.”</p><p>“...Okay, you’re definitely gonna call me a liar after this.” The other man grinned, shaking his head.</p><p>“Try me.” Norman rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat with embarrassment.</p><p>“Stanford.”</p><p>Ethan whistled, raising his eyebrows, but nodded in acknowledgment, apparently unfazed. Norman raised an eyebrow himself, waiting for a joke, a snide comment, a mocking laugh, but none came.</p><p>“That’s it? You’re not gonna ask to see my transcript or somethin’?”</p><p>“Why? You’re intelligent, dedicated, clearly brilliant at what you do or you wouldn’t have been assigned...that case. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t gone to an elite school.”</p><p>Norman wet his lips, taking a few bites of his food while he processed that, before glancing up, feeling oddly exposed beneath Ethan’s gentle gaze.</p><p>“...Okay. Well, see if you can hang onto your hat for this next bit. I graduated at 21, Honours with Distinction, all that jazz. Had a scholarship to pay for college, and the bottom fell out at my part-time a couple weeks before graduation, so when I came out, I was practically broke. One of my professors in criminal psych knew a guy who knew a guy, who knew another guy at the bureau; put in a good word for me I guess, and said I should apply when I told him I was hard up. I had nothin’ else going for me at the time, so...Anyway, fast forward a couple weeks, I get a call saying someone at the beaura wants t’see me on account of my test scores.” He shook his head, grinning at the memory. “I went in thinking they were gonna give me a desk job; hell, I’d have taken a gig scrubbin’ toilets. Anyway, turns out they’d looked at my college grades, my background, psych profile, the whole nine, and figured they wanted me as an agent. Rules say you gotta to be 23, minimum, to join the FBI; apparently for whatever they wanted me for, those extra couple years were a technicality. So I signed up, graduated Quantico academy after 20 weeks, got my badge, and that was it. Started adding a few years to my age once I got into the academy, for obvious reasons.”</p><p>“You never worried someone would call you out on it?” Norman frowned, shrugging defensively.</p><p>“I figured I was there under false pretences anyway...Hell I worked twice as hard as people twice my age to stick it out in training, to qualify, get promoted — none of it would’ve been worth shit if people wrote me off as a dumb kid after I graduated! I ain’t proud of it, but...well, I guess I did what I had to. I might not‘ve got to Quantico legitimately, but I earned my badge, and I earned my position. I wasn’t gonna let anyone shit on that.”</p><p>There was a pause; nausea shifted in Norman’s stomach at the memory of his resignation. All that effort and dedication up in a puff of smoke, quick as you could say ‘Blake did it.’ Prof Davis would be so disappointed if he knew.</p><p>“I completely respect that.” He glanced up, dropping Ethan a weak smile at the understanding and respect on the other’s face. “Heck I can’t imagine going through all that, competing with people double your age and coming out shining? They made the right choice recruiting you, even if the method was a bit unorthodox. All the people you’ve helped would attest to that.” Norman smiled, tried to hold onto the thought that he had actually managed to help people, even if everything else in his life had gone to various degrees of shit in the process.</p><p>“I guess. What about you, Mars? Any dirty secrets hidden under your hat?” Ethan smiled and shook his head, gaze dropping to his shoes.</p><p>“Nah, none that I can think of. Certainly nothing as impressive as winging my way through the FBI academy. You’d better not let Shaun know; I think he’s got ambitions to follow in your footsteps one of these days.”</p><p>“Aw no.” Norman chuckled, putting his face in his hands. “Don’t, don’t let him do that, seriously. There’s a reason training’s so competitive: <em>no-one</em> who makes it through the programme is well-adjusted, you can’t be and do what’s necessary for the job. It...y’know. It’s your life; it becomes your life. There’s no room for anythin’ else.”</p><p>There was a pause; Ethan frowned sympathetically and leaned forwards, warm blue eyes holding his gaze.</p><p>“Is that why...” He trailed off, pained expression supplying the rest of the words.</p><p>“The Tripto? No, not exactly.” Norman frowned, smiling wryly at himself, “Well, yeah, actually, kinda — hang on, lemme back up here. It’s...well. Another long story.” Ethan glanced at the clock, leaning back in his chair with a smile.</p><p>“It’s only 10:30, and it’s Saturday; we’ve got time. Unless you want to sleep —”</p><p>“Nah, I’m good. S’nice talkin’ about something that isn’t work for a change. Or, well, not technically work, work-adjacent — y’know what I mean!” They both chuckled, Norman realising with a warm glow that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this. His cheeks hurt from smiling.</p><p>“Right, so. You ever see those glasses and the glove I used to wear?” The other man frowned, shaking his head. “Right, no problem. Well, the bureau was trialling this new technology called ARI — Added Reality Interface, it’s a tool for collating and analysing data and evidence from crime scenes. Basically you shove the glasses and glove on, and ARI pulls up evidence from the environment you’re likely to miss with the naked eye, collates it, and produces a truncated analysis. Basically does the legwork so the agent can concentrate on integrating the evidence with the facts of the case, and draw links between different data sets to arrive at a conclusion more quickly. Great idea in theory, but like everythin' it’s got some drawbacks in practice.”</p><p>Norman shifted in his seat, picking at a half-full carton of spicey rice. “When the original ARI model came out, it was classed as highly experimental: only a handful of agents got access to the programme, and you had to be referred by the assistant director for a spot. They offered me a place, and me bein’ a moron, I jumped at the chance to prove myself. Maybe that’s why they have the minimum age capped at 23, come to think about it. Anyway, turns out, using ARI at the rate agents need to in order to do their jobs properly eventually damages the brain, due to the stress the interface puts on the cortex. By the time the designers figured that out, the devices were too far integrated into bureau procedure to be recalled: people couldn’t have switched back to pen and paper analysis fast enough even if they’d wanted to. So, to keep their case closure rates high, and their agents not brain-dead, the higher-ups found a workaround. Triptocaine.”</p><p>Ethan looked incredulously at him, eyebrows leaping up his forehead.</p><p>“So...wait, counteracting brain damage with<em> addiction</em>? Am I missing something here?”</p><p>“Not exactly.” Norman leaned forwards with a wry smile, warming to his theme. “Triptocaine works by increasing serotonin and dopamine levels in the brain, particularly in regions stressed by ARI usage. Theoretically, this gives the brain a chance to recover; the stressed regions are effectively taken offline, and supplied with the neurotransmitters required to repair themselves. At the same time, other brain regions not directly involved in the use of ARI are affected by Triptocaine, helping them…like, cover, for the stressed regions. Increased serotonin precipitates heightened focus and concentration, increased dopamine precipitates euphoria and relaxation. So, in theory, you get a super-focussed, smack-happy agent who can work on pen and paper twice as fast as anyone sober, and still solve cases during their ARI downtime.” Ethan grimaced hard, shaking his head.</p><p>“That’s...Jesus, Norman. There’s so many ways that could go wrong.” He nodded, grimacing himself.</p><p>“Exactly. First problem, Triptocaine blunts the, er, unpleasant side effects, of using ARI for too long. So of course people started usin’ it to stay in the interface past their tolerance levels, to crack cases faster, and did even more damage to their brains. Second issue, because the Tripto was literally being dispensed by the fucking FBI without a prescription, everyone thought it was a safe form of the stuff: uncut, non-addictive, could be used independently of ARI just to get high, without consequences. They didn’t pay attention to how much they were usin’ until withdrawal kicked in.” He shrugged, folding his arms and looking at the floor. “Second one is what happened to me. I definitely pushed my tolerance with ARI more than once too, but there doesn’t seem to be any lasting damage. Most folks start hallucinating stuff permanently after a couple years’ heavy use.”</p><p>“So — Jesus Christ — do you still have this thing?! Do you still have to <em>use it</em>, I mean —”</p><p>“No.” Norman smiled sadly, stomach clenching painfully again. “No, I...I handed it in along with my badge. I...If it was between quittin’ my job and frying my brain, I had to quit the job. I had to.”</p><p>Ethan only looked at him aghast, a deep frown knitting his brow and his expressive eyes filled with compassion.</p><p>“God, I’m...I’m so sorry, Norman.” He only shrugged himself and looked at his feet, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of sadness, of anger at himself, of something that felt almost like grief.</p><p>“S’okay. Like I said, it couldn’t be helped.”</p><p>“Still, that...really can’t have been easy. You’ve such passion for what you do, and you’re damn good at it. I’m so sorry you had to give it up.”</p><p>Norman wet his lips and swallowed hard, blinking as tears prickled suddenly behind his eyes. He didn’t know what to do with the warmth suddenly blooming in his chest, smoothing out the rough edges of his psyche and flowing into the gashes in his heart until he felt something almost like happiness. He smiled at the other man, gratitude flooding him until his chest hurt with it.</p><p>“Thanks, that’s...that’s real nice of you to say.” He swallowed hard again and coughed, fumbling for the words to express himself properly and coming up short. “That, uh, really...really means a lot. Thank you.” Ethan only smiled easily himself and shrugged, his blue eyes understanding.</p><p>“S’okay. It’s true.”</p><p>There was a long pause, rain rattling hard against the window. Ethan shifted in his chair and glanced outside, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Norman followed his gaze, pushing himself to his feet.</p><p>“You, uh, you want me to close the drapes?” The other glanced up at him, looking faintly embarrassed.</p><p>“Uh, it’s fine. Just...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I-I need to get used to it.” Norman frowned deeply and yanked the drapes closed, the clatter of the rain dulling to a murmur.</p><p>“Get outta here with that hero-crap; you’ve been babysittin’ my ass the whole night, it’s the least I can do.”</p><p>He sat back down with a grunt, Ethan dropping him a grateful smile even as his eyes flickered back to the window. Norman pursed his lips and started talking again, hoping to distract the other from his worries. “So, uh, yeah. On the plus side, if there is a plus side in all this, the Tripto is just a regular addiction now. Been tryna kick it since before the OK case, but something would always come up right when I didn’t need it to, force me to take it again just to keep my head straight.” He shrugged, grimacing, and started picking at the fried rice again, relieved to see that Ethan’s attention had shifted from the window back to him. “I got 12 vials left from the bureau; if I don’t kick it before the last one’s out, I’ll be buying it off the street, and I really don’t wanna do that.”</p><p>“No, I can understand why —” Ethan broke off, starting forward in his seat as his eyes widened with alarm. “<em>Shit</em> — you don’t inject it, do you?!”</p><p>“What? No!” Norman jumped himself, alarmed by the other’s panic. “I didn’t even know you could do that! Hell I hate needles, I’d never —” He broke off at the fear shining in the other’s eyes, worry and compassion blooming in his chest as he joined up the dots. “No. Jesus, no — I’ve never injected anythin’, and I don’t plan to start. Panic like hell just getting my flu shot, I couldn’t start shootin’ up even if I wanted to.”</p><p>He forced a smile, focussing his attention back on his food and giving the other man space to collect himself. Ethan had relaxed visibly at his assurances, letting out a breath and wiping a hand across his eyes. There was a short silence; Norman swallowed a forkful of rice for something to do, kicking himself for talking so openly about his addiction when he didn’t know anything of Ethan’s history outside of case reports.</p><p>“...Good. That’s good. It’s, uh, much more addictive if you inject it, at least that’s what I’ve heard. Also much easier to...” The other trailed off, swallowing visibly. “To OD.”</p><p>“Yeah, I...I can believe that. Any drug’ll reach the brain faster and in larger quantities when you inject it straight into the bloodstream.”</p><p>
  <em>Nice going, Jayden; way to turn someone’s trauma into a fucking neuroscience lesson. Jesus.</em>
</p><p>Norman grimaced at himself and put down the rice, looked up to meet the other man’s gaze with a sympathetic frown. “Did you, er...did you...know someone?”</p><p>Ethan stilled at the question, gaze dropping to the side before flickering up to meet his own again, the other man pursing his lips in a rueful expression and looking at his hands.</p><p>“You asked me if I had any secrets. M’not sure if it counts, but...I had a friend in college, used to use Triptocaine to get through his exams. He was — we were both 18, hadn’t been living away from our parents for long...just stupid kids. I never tried it myself, never wanted to, but Brady just...” The other gave a heavy sigh and shook his head, his gaze distant and filled with a quiet, bone-deep sadness similar to what Norman remembered from the first time he’d met the man down at the station.</p><p>“Jesus, I’m...I’m really sorry, Ethan. Here’s me goin’ on about my own problems, I shouldn’t have —”</p><p>“It’s fine.” The other cut him off with a shake of his head, frowning. “I...I got past it, a long time ago. I’m glad you feel you can talk to me about...well, whatever. I just...I’d hate to see someone else throw their life away when they’ve barely started living yet.” Norman smiled lop-sidedly at that and shook his head, looking down at his feet.</p><p>“Big difference between 18 and 26.”</p><p>“Maybe not as much as you’d think. You’re still young; still have time to change things, make different choices.” Norman raised an eyebrow, snorting.</p><p>“Says the guy less than six years older than me. You ain’t a geriatric yet, Ethan.” The other shrugged, smiling.</p><p>“I’m not exactly the adventurous type, either. I can’t even face crowds without panicking.”</p><p>“You chopped off your own finger to save your kid! The fuck part of that isn’t adventurous?!” Norman paused on realising what he’d said, opened his mouth to apologise — but Ethan was chuckling, examining his mutilated pinky finger absently.</p><p>“I guess you’re right! I hadn’t really thought of that as an adventure; more just doing what I had to for Shaun.”</p><p>Norman thought back to his pursuit of Korda through the market, his narrow escapes from both Mad Jack and a disguised Scott Shelby at The Blue Lagoon, and chuckled himself, shaking his head.</p><p>“All in the line of duty, right? As an Agent, or a father.”</p><p>“Except you don’t get hazard pay as a father.” He snorted a laugh, nodding.</p><p>“Yeah, you guys definitely should! Your job’s way more dangerous than my — er — ex-job.”</p><p>Ethan smiled, retrieving a carton of garlic noodles from the table and sitting back in his chair.</p><p>“So, uh, what’re you planning to do next, for a job I mean? Sorry, it’s probably too early to ask that...”</p><p>“S’alright. I, er, honestly? I haven’t really thought about it.” Norman shrugged, sitting back himself to drain the last of his water. “The bureau gives a pretty generous severance package, so I don’t gotta worry about that for a while. Getting clean’s the most important thing; after that I’ll just see where I end up, I guess.”</p><p>“Could you rejoin the FBI, just not use ARI?” He smiled crookedly, shrugging.</p><p>“Maybe in a couple years. I love the job, but it eats up your life like nothin’ else, ARI or no ARI. I could use a break for a while, try an’ have something like a normal life. Plus I, er, kinda messed up with my superiors just before the Origami case was closed.”</p><p>“I thought the guy you accused was a dirty cop anyway.” Ethan shook his head, frowning. “They should’ve thanked you for helping kill two birds with one stone.” Norman smiled, shrugging.</p><p>“Yeah, well.”</p><p>There was a comfortable silence for a time, the rain having ebbed to a soft drizzle outside.</p><p>“So, uh, I’m guessing you’ll head home to Boston, once you’ve got everything sorted out here.” Norman smiled tightly, a flash of pain going through him.</p><p>“Yeah, Boston ain’t really home. Honestly, I’ve moved around so much I can’t really see myself puttin’ down roots. Don’t think I’d be very good at it.” Ethan blinked at him, his expression mystified.</p><p>“Really? You’ve never been anywhere you really wanted to stay?” Norman shook his head, shrugging.</p><p>“Nah. You move about for long enough, everywhere starts to look like everywhere else. The freedom’s nice, I guess, not havin’ to worry about anything long-term.”</p><p>“I guess. Must get lonely sometimes too, though. No offence, just — having to start fresh, wherever you go.” Ethan smiled lop-sidedly, shaking his head at himself. “I’m probably just too boring for that kind of lifestyle.”</p><p>“Nah, I think you’re just smart. Who wouldn’t want the whole white-picket-fence deal, if they could get it and still be happy doin’ what they wanted?” The other man smiled wryly, nodding.</p><p>“I guess it’s not always rainbows no matter what you choose in life. <em>Damn</em>, is that the time?!”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Norman glanced over, surprise rippling though him to see the clock reading 12:16am.</p><p>“Fuckin-a! Time flies, huh?” He finished the last of the now-cold rice and hopped to his feet, grimacing as his right knee buckled. “Shit —”</p><p>“Woah — you okay?!” Ethan caught his arm immediately, wrapping his own around Norman’s back for support.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, just shitty circulation. No big deal.” He grimaced and tried to hit the feeling back into his leg, fighting the sudden, overpowering urge to lean into the other man. Ethan was warm and pleasantly solid, his grip secure where he braced Norman‘s shoulders, and there was a faint smell of citrus to his clothes.</p><p>Norman rolled his eyes mentally at himself and whacked his thigh again, circling his ankle with a grimace as blood began returning to the limb.</p><p>“I don’t think hitting yourself is going to make the feeling come back any quicker.”</p><p>“A guy can dream.” He tested his leg gingerly, before settling his full weight on it with a huff of relief. Ethan smiled, squeezing his shoulder absently, before stepping away to grab his coat; Norman shivered hard at the contact despite himself and winced, embarrassment knifing through him at how touch-starved he was.</p><p>“Guess I’d better head off before I fall asleep on my feet.” Ethan smiled warmly, holding out a hand. “Look after yourself, Norman.” He swallowed hard and took it, forcing a smile; he suddenly felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Of course the other man was leaving: Norman was fine now, what reason was there for him to stay?</p><p>“Yeah, sure. You too. Thank you, for...”</p><p>
  <em>Coming by; helping me clean up; getting me food; sitting and talking with me like I’m a human being.</em>
</p><p>“Just, y’know.” He swallowed, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “Everythin’. You, uh, you really didn’t have to.”</p><p>“It’s fine, I’m...I’m glad I could help.”</p><p>Ethan smiled and clasped his shoulder, a slight frown knitting his brow. “Listen, I...I know it’s not any of my business, but I’d feel a lot happier leaving if I knew you were going to check yourself in somewhere to help with this. I’m not trying to push you into anything, it’s just —”</p><p>“I gettit; it’s okay.” Norman tried for a smile, shrugging. “I don’t do well with those kinda places. Last time I tried, all it did was make me even more desperate for a hit when I got out.” He thought back to the cold corridors, the condescending staff, the overwhelming feeling of being an inconvenience to everyone he met, and grimaced, shaking his head. “At least this way I got some kinda control over it, y’know?”</p><p>The other man nodded, his eyes gentle. “I understand. I, uh, I do have a spare room, if you ever need somewhere to stay, or just...y’know, help. With, things.” Norman blinked, that same warmth he didn’t know what to do with flooding his chest.</p><p>“I, uh...that’s, real kind, I...I, uh...” He trailed off, an awkward silence settling between them.</p><p>“I mean, you don’t have to decide right now — there’s no pressure. I just, if it would make things easier —”</p><p>“Yeah I, I can’t.” Norman looked away, scratching at his hair, fear and embarrassment fighting with that warmth, the prospect of support and good food and company.</p><p>
  <em>Shit Jayden. Just shut up and let the guy go already, you’ve wasted enough of his time.</em>
</p><p>“That’s real kind, but — you’ve done a helluva lot for me as it is. I don’t wanna...y’know. Take advantage.” Ethan frowned, shaking his head.</p><p>“It’s not taking advantage if I’m offering you a room. Really, I’d...if you’d be comfortable with it, after what happened tonight I’d really feel better knowing you have people around if you need it.” The conflict in his chest intensified at the other’s persistence, mixing with a familiar, stinging embarrassment at being alone and making anger flare in his gut.</p><p>“Christ — Ethan you’ve got a kid! I can’t be kickin’ it in your bathroom when he could just walk in!” The other only shrugged mildly.</p><p>“Shaun stays with his mom Monday through Friday anyway, and I can always take him out someplace for a few hours at the weekend if you need privacy.”</p><p>Norman sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his eyes. His hotel room expired on Monday anyway, and he didn’t have anywhere else lined up. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was the practical option, and he didn’t have any other excuses if Ethan persisted that wouldn’t seem like an insult to the other man.</p><p>“...Fine. Just until I’m clean. I’ll pay half the rent, utilities, everything; severance package‘ll cover the next couple months at least, so I won’t be costing you nothin’.”</p><p>“Works for me.” Ethan smiled, the relief clear in his face; Norman swallowed hard, kicking himself for worrying the other man. If he’d just fuckin’ held it together on the phone none of this would have happened — and what if things got bad when he was at the Marses? Bathroom: lock the door, turn on the shower, bite down on a towel and just <em>deal</em> with it until it stopped, like he should’ve done earlier. That would work, he could do that. Just a few weeks, get himself clean, then he’d be out the other’s way.</p><p>“So, uh, when should we expect you?” He shrugged, already hating the feeling of relying on someone, of burdening them.</p><p>“Well I gotta be out of here on Monday, so...”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Change of Scene</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Norman ended up checking out of his room the next morning: with only one suitcase, and he and Ethan having already cleaned up the mess from last night, it took him barely any time at all to pack up and check out. There didn’t seem any point in hanging around one more day when his ex-employer was still technically paying for the room.</p><p>Ethan was waiting for him in the lobby when he came down, smiled warmly on catching sight of him. “Hey. You ready to go?”</p><p>“All set.” Norman returned the smile tightly, already beginning to regret agreeing to this. “Uh, just so y’know, it’s been a while since I shared an apartment with someone. Might take a bit of getting used to, for both of us.”</p><p>“No problem; I’m not exactly houseproud, and the new place has plenty room for two people. D’you want to just, follow me in your car, and we can figure out parking when we get there?”</p><p>“I, uh...don’t actually have a car anymore.” He shrugged at the other’s surprised look, smiling ruefully. “The Impala’s a company vehicle; it got impounded when I resigned.” It wasn’t technically a lie: the car had been company property, and had been impounded — flattened into a cube, in Mad Jack’s salvage yard. No way he was going to get into that psycho’s crushing of Norman’s car with him still inside it in a crowded hotel lobby.</p><p>“<em>Seriously</em>?”</p><p>“Seriously. The bureau’s like the mafia; you can get out, but they sure don’t make it easy.” He frowned, shaking his head. “Pissed me right off; I really liked that car.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ethan’s new place was a modestly-sized, two-storey house in the Philadelphia suburbs, backing onto a park and surrounded by a plethora of sycamore trees. Norman squinted in the sunshine as he climbed out of the other man’s car, the calm, solid atmosphere of the place at stark odds with the grit and ephemerism of the city hotel rooms and backwoods B&amp;Bs he was used to.</p><p>The house inside was as benignly chaotic as might be expected for a single man in terms of mess, but it was clean and comfortable, light filtering in through multiple aspects on the lower and upper floors, and crayon drawings on the icebox and a games console on the floor beside the television denoting a child’s presence. Norman rubbed a hand across his eyes, shaking his head at himself.</p><p>
  <em>Jesus Jayden, it’s a house, not a crime scene. You’re tryin’ to be normal, remember? You’re here because you’re trying to be normal.</em>
</p><p>He sighed and glanced awkwardly around the living-room, unsure of what to do with himself.</p><p>“Can I take your coat?” He started at Ethan’s voice behind him, slipped his heavy leather jacket off slightly uncomfortably.</p><p>“Sure. Thanks.”</p><p><em>Why do I feel like a suspect at a detention centre? He’s tryin’ to </em>help<em>, not make me feel uncomfortable. Jesus, I ain’t used to this. I dunno how to act.</em></p><p>Norman folded his arms across his chest, feeling exposed as Ethan hung his coat up on the rack in the hallway. He was wearing the same, fresh-ish clothes from last night; they’d barely been worn, and it wasn’t like he had a huge selection to choose from, but he felt suddenly like he should have changed into something else.</p><p>Ethan smiled warmly at him as the other man padded back through, clasping his shoulder and making Norman’s stomach clench and his skin fizz at the contact.</p><p>“Right, so. Kitchen’s through there, downstairs bathroom is down the hall on the right, laundry room’s on the other side, and the door to the yard is in the back wall of the kitchen; you’ll see it when you go in. The spare room is upstairs, first door on the right; my and Shaun’s rooms are the second and third doors on the right; my office is at the end of the corridor upstairs; and the upstairs bathroom is first left at the top of the stairs.”</p><p>“Got it.” Norman did his best to parse all that, feeling momentarily nostalgic for ARI. At least the house wasn’t huge; worst came to the worst he could just glance into all the rooms until he found where he was trying to get to. His host smiled and nodded, clapping his shoulder companionably.</p><p>“I’ll let you get settled in; if you need anything, just yell.”</p><p>It turned out that the layout of the house was remarkably easy to commit to memory once he was walking around. Norman pushed open the door to the spare room, stood blinking on the threshold for a moment. The room wasn’t dissimilar to a hotel suite, except for the non-standard, powder-blue bedsheets and the shards of evidence — mismatched bedside lamps, photographs, a couple of mislaid personal items — that reminded him this was somebody’s home. His body tensed abruptly, instincts screaming at him to move, leave, run like hell before he was thrown out — Norman grimaced hard and set his suitcase down beside the wardrobe, forcing himself to walk over to the bed.</p><p>The discomfort, the urge to run intensified tenfold as he sat down on the mattress; Norman clenched his fists and breathed slowly through his nose, shoulders hunched and jaw tight as though he was bracing for withdrawal. It was a very similar feeling: fear; uncontrollable, gut-wrenching pain that felt like it was never going to end; no remedy that wouldn’t make things worse in the long-run; and the promise of relief if he could just bite his knuckles and ride it out for as long as it lasted without giving in.</p><p>After several long minutes the panicky feelings at last began to retreat, and he sighed with relief, flopping back onto the mattress and wiping a hand across his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>S’okay, it’s just for a few weeks. Just a few weeks, just until you’re clean, then you can blow this joint. It’s just like in training; you can do a few weeks Jayden, c’mon.</em>
</p><p>“Norman?” He blinked, scrambling up to sitting at the light knock on the door.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Just, uh, wondering what you’d like for lunch.” He smiled lop-sidedly, warmth mixing with awkwardness in his chest at being asked.</p><p>“Uh, whatever; pretty much anything is good. Anythin’ except devilled eggs.” Ethan chuckled quietly; he could picture the other man shaking his head.</p><p>“Not a fan, huh?” Norman shook his head himself, grimacing.</p><p>“Hell no. Eggs should either be sunny-side up, or they shouldn’t exist.”</p><p>“Duly noted. I’ll go see what I can rustle up.” He smiled, pushing himself to his feet.</p><p>“I’ll come help you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*David Attenborough voice* “And here we see the wild Jayden, freshly introduced to suburbia. Skittish after so long spent alone in the city, it will take time for him to find his feet and feel comfortable in this new environment.”</p><p> </p><p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Change of Pace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Norman shifted in his chair with a yawn, putting the job listings he was reading aside and stretching languidly. Ethan’s spare room had a freakin’ <em>private balcony</em> of all things thanks to the French windows, and the weather had been unusually nice for Philly during the almost two weeks he’d been here. He smiled lop-sidedly and looked out across the park, listening to the wind in the sycamores and enjoying the sun on his face. For the first time in a long time, he felt almost peaceful.</p><p>A faint smell of burning reached his nose; Norman stiffened and sat up straight, sniffing attentively. The smell got exponentially stronger when he turned his head; he leapt out of his chair, following it out into the corridor and down the stairs like a bloodhound.</p><p>
  <em>Shit, what the fuck’s burning?! Is Shaun here?! No, he’s at his mom’s, won’t be here ‘til 5 —</em>
</p><p>“Ethan?!” He clattered down the stairs and skidded into the living-room, grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa and scanning the kitchen for the source of the fire. “Ethan!”</p><p>There was a kettle boiling, and a frying pan full of something starting to flame on the stove, but no Ethan. Norman pulled the kettle plug out the wall with one hand and turned off the gas with the other, coughing on the smoke the pan was producing.</p><p>
  <em>Frying pan — probably oil-based cooking fat — put it under the faucet, it’ll go up like a torch. Needa cut off the oxygen supply, smother it with somethin’...</em>
</p><p>He scanned around the kitchen, before grabbing the salt bin from the worktop, pausing before dumping it in.</p><p>
  <em>If the salt displaces the oil, somethin’ else could catch fire. Gotta get it out the house, someplace open. Pan’s too hot to touch, could light me up holdin’ it. Blanket — soak it, wrap it ‘round my arm. Even if it lights, I’ll have time to drop and roll once I’m in the yard.</em>
</p><p>He soaked the blanket quickly and wrapped it around his arm like a dressing, tying a double strip around his hand to allow him to grasp the handle.</p><p>
  <em>Steady Jayden. Walk slow, no sudden movements. Just a few steps to the door.</em>
</p><p>He shoved the salt bin under one arm and lifted the pan gingerly with his other hand, easing towards the door and putting himself between the flames and anything combustible as he went.</p><p>
  <em>Fuckin’ hell. If I burn t’death, I’ll be haunting your ass for eternity, Mars.</em>
</p><p>At last, he reached the door<em>, </em>inched carefully around to reach the handle with his left hand. The salt bin under his arm made movement difficult, and the pan was getting heavy in his other hand. He could feel the heat from the flames on his face. Norman gritted his teeth and knocked his hip against his hand to force his wrist around, tears starting in his eyes at the pain of hyperextension, and grasped the handle, easing it around before levering the door open the rest of the way with his shoulder.</p><p>
  <em>Gottit. Fuck.</em>
</p><p>He made his way slowly down the porch steps and into the back yard, throwing the pan as far as he could once he was a safe distance from the house and pouring salt over it until the flames were extinguished.</p><p>
  <em>Jesus. Okay, we’re okay. No damage done. Sheesh.</em>
</p><p>“Norman?” He looked up, breathing heavily from the adrenaline still coursing through him. Ethan was frowning confusedly at him, a hand on the gate between the yard and the park proper. “What’re you doing?”</p><p>“Stopping your fuckin’ house from burnin’ down! What the fuck’re you thinkin’, leaving a pan on the gas and just walkin’ off?!”</p><p>“What?!” The other hurried into the yard, looking frantically between him and the small mountain of salt with a pan handle sticking out of it, lying in the dust. “Oh my God — are you alright?! I’m such an <em>idiot</em>, I only meant to be gone for two seconds to open the gate<em>...” </em>He felt the corner of his mouth pull up despite himself as Ethan tugged at his hair, wondered vaguely how in hell the guy had survived to 32 even with his wife’s help.</p><p>“It’s fine, I gottit. Next time, just —”</p><p>“Ethan? What’s going on?” A slim woman with long brown hair — Grace Mars, his brain supplied automatically, maiden name Franklin, Ethan’s ex-wife and Shaun’s mother — came up to the gate, frowning. Norman coughed awkwardly and looked at his feet, trying to blend into the background as she strode into the yard, raising an eyebrow at the salt pile. “Ethan...”</p><p>“I — uh — there was —” The other man broke off, quailing under his ex-wife’s glare, and Norman found himself speaking, slipping automatically into professional mode as sharp brown eyes fixed on him.</p><p>“There was a small fire, ma’am; I wasn’t payin’ attention and let my eggs burn. Overcompensated on putting it out, but there’s no damage done.”</p><p>Grace regarded him steadily for a moment, before raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“I see. This is despite the fact,” she turned back to her ex-husband, frowning accusingly, “that Ethan told me <em>he</em> was preparing lunch for Shaun just a few minutes ago: something involving fried bacon.”</p><p>“Er...” The man in question cringed and forced a smile, holding up his hands placatingly; she rolled her eyes and prodded him in the shoulder, shaking her head.</p><p>“Honestly, Ethan. This’s the kind of nonsense that’ll lose you visiting rights if you’re not careful.”</p><p>“Agent Jayden!” Norman barely had time to look up before a small body barrelled into him, making him stagger backwards. Shaun hugged him around the waist, tight enough to make his organs ache in protest. “You’re still here!”</p><p>“Sure I’m still here, buddy; I’m stayin’ another couple weeks, at least. I’m on vacation, remember?” He smiled and hugged the boy back, ruffling his hair as Shaun grinned up at him.</p><p>“Ah, so <em>this</em> is the famous Agent Jayden!” Grace smiled warmly, extending a hand. “Grace Franklin, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”</p><p>“Uh, no ma’am.” Norman stood up straighter and shook, professional manner slipping back into place automatically. “Norman Jayden, FB — FBI.” He cringed internally at the misstep, but Grace didn’t seem to notice, smiling brightly and nodding in acknowledgment.</p><p>“I hear you’re something of a hero. Thank you, for helping save my son.”</p><p>“Oh, I er...I wasn’t really...” He trailed off as Grace excused herself, heading over to where Shaun was investigating the salt pile.</p><p>“Shaun, be careful with that!” Ethan frowned and nudged Norman’s shoulder, worried blue eyes meeting his own. “Is it safe?” He nodded, watching mother and child investigate the pan.</p><p>“It’s fine. Had a metric ton of salt dumped on it, and it’s been sittin’ in the open air for almost five minutes.” Pain spiked up his wrist when he lifted his hand and Norman grimaced, rubbing at it. “I mean I ain’t no firefighter, but goin’ by prior experience, if it was gonna light again it would’ve by now.”</p><p>“Thank you. <em>Again</em>. Seems like all you do is save my ass.” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head.</p><p>“Get outta here.”</p><p>
  <em>Pretty sure stoppin’ a guy choking to death on his own puke counts for more than saving you from gettin’ chewed out by your ex, Mars.</em>
</p><p>He smiled lop-sidedly at the thought, the expression slipping at the feeling of tremors starting in his right hand.</p><p>
  <em>Dammit all. C’mon Norman, you can hold it together a few more minutes. Just don’t fuckin’ think about it.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Once Special Agent Shaun Mars had finished his investigation of Salt Mountain, and Ethan had heaved it into the trash, pan and all, it was almost time for lunch.</p><p>Grace was sorry she couldn’t stay: she was dropping Shaun off early to go and support her new partner, Brett, a couple of states over after his mother had been taken into hospital. The ex-couple stood in the kitchen, making stilted small-talk and looking everywhere but at each other; Norman cringed internally and resolved to make himself scarce.</p><p>Shaun had disappeared off into the living room to play the PlayStation; he slipped into the laundry room at the first opportunity and shut the door, searching the medical kit for something to bind his wrist with, and to keep himself occupied. His right hand was still trembling, but that was all, his body having recovered enough over the past couple of weeks that the shakes weren’t spreading through the rest of him as quickly as usual. With any luck the most he’d have to deal with would be shaky hands, headaches, dizzy spells and exhaustion from here on out, but his instincts told him the Tripto wasn’t going to let him go that easily.</p><p>
  <em>Right, lesee here. Ow, fuck; okay, not usin' that hand for a while. There’s gotta be muscle tape in here someplace, c’mon. Jeez, the tension between them two is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Goes to show, long-term relationships ain’t always what they’re cracked up to be. I hope I ain’t makin’ things worse by being here. There’s the damn tape.</em>
</p><p>Tape, but no scissors; Norman huffed a sigh and closed the box, slipping the roll around his good wrist and padding back out into the kitchen. Ethan and Grace stopped talking abruptly when he came in and he paused, forcing a smile as they both looked appraisingly at him.</p><p>“It was great meeting you, Agent Jayden.” Grace threw her ex-husband a cryptic look, before stepping forward with a warm smile, holding out a hand. “I’m really sorry I can’t stay longer.”</p><p>“Uh, jus’ Norman is fine, Ms Franklin.” He smiled and shook with his good hand, saw Ethan frown questioningly at the roll of tape around his wrist as he did so. “It was good meeting you too. I hope your partner’s mom does alright.”</p><p>“Thank you. I’d better get going; traffic will be awful on the freeway if I get caught in it after 5.”</p><p>Grace ducked her head into the living-room to say goodbye to her son, before she and Ethan were heading to the front door. Norman busied himself with binding up his wrist, leaning on the countertop and cursing his trembling right hand as he tried to get the tape into the right position.</p><p>
  <em>Fuckin’ shakes; stress definitely makes ‘em worse. I guess there’s a possibility Mars and Grace might get back together sometime. I’ll have to be outta here before that happens. Just need a couple more weeks, a couple more weeks clean and I’ll be good t’go.</em>
</p><p>“What did you do to your hand?” He jumped at the voice behind him, whipping round automatically with his fists raised. “Woah, woah, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Ethan raised his own hands, smiling lop-sidedly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. What happened?” Norman grimaced and lifted his left wrist, shrugging.</p><p>“Hyperextension. Couldn’t reach the door handle gettin’ the pan out. It’ll be fine, just gotta bind it up with somethin’.”</p><p>“Did you ice it?”</p><p>“Uh...”</p><p>He blinked as Ethan headed over to the icebox, removing an icepack and gesturing for Norman to sit down.</p><p>“If you wrap it while it’s still swollen you can get a blood clot. Here.” Norman held himself still as the other lifted his hand gently, holding the ice pack against the injury. “I used to play basketball in high school; lost track of how many times I sprained my wrist, or my knee.” Ethan grimaced ruefully, shaking his head. “Coach always told us to ice injuries for ten minutes <em>after</em> the cold started to hurt worse than the sprain.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s...that’s about where I’m at right now.” Norman grimaced himself, locked the burning pain of the cold determinedly away in the back of his brain. “You, uh...you still play?”</p><p>“Not seriously; still like to shoot a few hoops when I can, though. Helps clear my head.”</p><p>“I get that.” He thought with a flash of his piano, setting his jaw and shifting uncomfortably as his skin started to scream from the cold. “Jeez, ten whole minutes? You’re serious?”</p><p>“I think Mr Harris was a sadist more than anything. This doesn’t seem too bad; hold still a sec.” Ethan removed the icepack and lifted his wrist, moving it gently around until Norman hissed in pain. “How bad does it hurt?”</p><p>“I dunno, like I busted my wrist. It’s not blindin’ me or nothing, if that’s what you’re askin’.” The other man frowned, nodding decidedly.</p><p>“It should be fine. Hold still, I’ll grab the tape.”</p><p>“It’s fine, I...I gottit...” Norman trailed off as the other man sat back down, proceeding to bind his wrist up more quickly and effectively than most paramedics Norman had encountered. The other man’s warm, assured hands brushing his skin made tiny electric shocks go through him, his whole system still responding in overdrive to the human contact. Norman clenched his other hand into a fist beneath the table, embarrassment washing through him.</p><p>
  <em>Shit, I gotta get this sorted. Should go get laid, that’d do the trick.</em>
</p><p>“There. Try to rest it as much as you can for about a week; if it gets worse, you should probably go to emergency.”</p><p>“Right; sure thing.” Norman flexed his left hand gingerly, quirking a smile to think of all the injuries — concussions, cracked ribs, superficial knife wounds — he’d treated himself in a hotel room with nothing but hot water, torn bed sheets, rubbing alcohol, and Triptocaine. “Thanks, Mars.”</p><p>“No problem.” The other man smiled warmly, getting to his feet. “Right, I really need to get lunch on — Shaun will start complaining he’s starving anytime now.” Norman smiled and sat back in his chair, folding his arms.</p><p>“I ain’t gonna be much help with my wrist busted, but I’ll sit here and yell at you if you try an’ burn the place down again.” Ethan smiled and shook his head, colour rising faintly in his cheeks as he opened the icebox.</p><p>“Works for me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Under the Weather</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lunch ended up being chicken nuggets with oven fries and ketchup; not the most adventurous meal, but firmly within Ethan’s skill-range regarding cooking, and impressively delicious.</p><p>Norman insisted on doing the dishes to make up for not helping with the food, using his right hand to scrub and leaving the dishes to drip themselves dry on the side. The trembling in his dominant hand was getting worse, and had spread to his left while he was eating; he set the last plate aside carefully to dry and put a hand to his forehead, swallowing against a wave of nausea. Ethan and Shaun were sitting at the table, chatting animatedly about the video game Shaun was playing: if he could hold it together another couple minutes he could make it out the kitchen and into the downstairs bathroom without any problems.</p><p>
  <em>Dammit all. Right, just —</em>
</p><p>He stopped, gripping the countertop with his good hand as a wave of dizziness engulfed him.</p><p>
  <em>Shit, not now —</em>
</p><p>Norman gripped the counter hard, vision greying out at the edges as he felt himself sway on his feet. Muffled voices sounded somewhere behind him; he squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath, fighting not to pass out.</p><p>
  <em>Countertop — tile floor — can’t hit my head — </em>
</p><p>His knees buckled, injured wrist too weak to support him when he tried to catch himself against the counter<em> — </em>before strong arms locked around his ribs, holding him up and stopping him from breaking his jaw against the granite.</p><p>“Norman?! What is it, what’s wrong?” He shook his head woozily, grasping at the countertop with his good hand and trying to get his legs back under him.</p><p>“D-Dizzy. Knees won’t lock.”</p><p>“Okay, just hang on.”</p><p>He found himself half-lifted, half-dragged away from the counter, vision tipping and swimming sickeningly with the movement. Norman groaned weakly and buried his face in Ethan’s shoulder; the other man’s body, his arms around Norman’s torso seemed to be the only things not spinning like a centrifuge. He felt himself laid down on something soft, the world lurching unbearably even with his eyes shut — Norman rolled quickly onto his side, clapping a hand across his mouth as bile rushed up his throat.</p><p><em>Shit — don’t throw up — don’t throw up, </em>don’t<em> —</em></p><p>“Shaun, grab the trash can, quickly — s’okay Norman, you can throw up if you need to. Shaun, grab a washcloth — run it under the cold tap and squeeze it out.” Norman was vaguely conscious of a hand in his hair, encouraging him to lean over the edge of what he recognised as the sofa, before another wave of dizziness made him vomit uncontrollably, the clatter of liquid against metal reassuring him there was at least something there to catch the stuff. He gasped a breath, shivering, kept his eyes shut as his stomach churned cantankerously. His head was still spinning like a top; Norman groaned miserably and gave up fighting it, gripping the edge of the sofa as his stomach expelled the rest of the food.</p><p><em>Dammit. So much for lunch.</em> <em>M’gonna waste away to nothin’ if this keeps up.</em></p><p>“Easy now, you’re alright. Try to relax, just let it happen.” Ethan’s hand was back in his hair, pushing it away from his face before settling on his forehead for a moment; he leaned into the touch with a soft moan, shivering. “Don’t feel like you have a fever. Just take it easy; you’re gonna be okay.”</p><p>The nausea and dizziness weren’t stopping, but he didn’t feel like he was actually going to throw up anymore. Norman huffed a breath and wiped a hand across his mouth, swallowing the aftertaste of bile and letting himself go limp against the sofa cushions. He was vaguely aware of a hand in his hair, a muffled voice and a hand against his cheek, before everything spun away into hazy blackness.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He woke up in a dark room, the smell of Ethan’s laundry detergent mixed with his own cologne letting him know he was in his own — well, borrowed — bed. Norman groaned quietly and pushed himself up to sitting, scrubbing both hands down his face. He felt drained, but surprisingly lucid, no hint of dizziness or nausea remaining as he glanced around to get his bearings. The bedside clock read 2:35pm; he’d been out for almost 20 minutes. Norman frowned and swung his legs out of bed, grimacing at his furry mouth, before attempting to get up. His knees locked easily, legs reassuringly firm beneath him; he huffed a breath in relief and sat back down, taking a moment to steady himself before attempting to actually walk.</p><p>“Agent Jayden?” Norman started and looked round, found Shaun Mars standing on the threshold of his room, his small face worried.</p><p>“Hey, buddy.” He surprised himself with a genuine smile, pulling his legs back up onto the mattress and turning to face the kid properly. “Everythin’ alright?”</p><p>“Dad says you’re sick. Are you gonna be okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I should be. Just gonna take me a bit of time to get better is all.” The boy hesitated, his expression torn.</p><p>“Will I get it?” Norman smiled weakly, shaking his head.</p><p>“Nah, it’s a disease only stupid adults get. You’re not an adult, and your Dad ain’t stupid, so neither of you is gonna get it.”</p><p>Shaun smiled lop-sidedly, before padding into the room, hopping up to sit beside him.</p><p>“Dad says you went to Stanford. How’d you get a stupid-person disease if you went to Stanford?” Norman chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. Why the hell had Ethan even mentioned that to the kid? Probably because Shaun had dreams of being an agent, and his father was trying to put him off by suggesting it involved huge amounts of homework.</p><p>“Well see, there’s different kinds of stupid. Me, now I’m very stupid, just not, y’know, with school stuff.” Shaun looked at him for a moment, considering that, before latching onto him for a hug.</p><p>“I don’t think you’re stupid.” Norman suppressed a sigh and hugged the kid back, smiling lop-sidedly. If Shaun wasn’t a clingy kid before, being trapped down a storm drain for almost a week must have done a number on him. A storm drain Norman could have found inside a couple days if he’d just looked closer, worked smarter, tried harder, not lost his head to freakin’ Tripto and exhaustion.</p><p>
  <em>You don’t know the half of it, kid.</em>
</p><p>“What’s it called?” Shaun pulled away after a moment, looking up at him.</p><p>“Huh? What’s what called?”</p><p>“What you’ve got?”</p><p>“Uh...” He thought for a moment, editing potential responses for unsuitable language. “It’s called Idiotmoronitis. Affects stupid adults, and stupid adults from Boston in particular, so I’m unlucky on two counts.”</p><p>“But you’ll get better, right?” He smiled lop-sidedly and nodded, shrugging despite himself.</p><p>“I’m tryin’ to.”</p><p>Norman sighed as the kid padded out of the room, pushing himself slowly up to standing. His green hooded jumper was lying at the end of the bed; Ethan must’ve taken it off him when he passed out to make him more comfortable. He frowned at the thought, mystified; it was a kind gesture, but definitely more trouble than it was worth given the non-emergency situation. As was hauling his unconscious ass all the way from the sofa to the bed, for that matter. He dismissed the thought with a shrug and slipped his jumper back on, pushing a hand through his hair and heading for the bathroom.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ethan stowed the last of the clean dishes in the kitchen cupboard, cursing quietly when the door refused to shut all the way. His friend had done a good job of cleaning up even with his injured wrist; he frowned, guilt shifting in his stomach at the thought. Norman had been noticeably pale after the incident with the pan; he should’ve insisted on doing the washing-up himself, had his friend keep Shaun amused instead. The other man had been asleep last time he went to check on him, and seemed physically fine apart from the dizziness and vomiting, but the raw panic he’d felt on seeing Norman collapse hadn’t quite abated, even now.</p><p>“See you later, Dad!”</p><p>“Okay — remember to be back in time for dinner!”</p><p>“Gottit!” The back door slammed, before his son was visible jogging through the yard and out the gate into the park towards his friends. Ethan padded to the window, hovering there for a moment as the kids started to throw a ball around, stomach knotting with worry despite himself. He could see the majority of the park easily from the house, and it was a safe neighbourhood full of well-to-do families: Dr Dupre had emphasised how important it was that Shaun went out by himself to see friends, got back to leading a normal life after everything that had happened. The knowledge didn’t do anything to stop the fear suddenly strumming through Ethan’s muscles, making his mouth go dry and his heart race; he leaned against the countertop and took several deep breaths, fighting to get a grip on himself. First the issue with crowds, now this — he wondered with a jolt of despair if he’d ever feel normal again.</p><p>“Ethan?” He started and glanced around, heart hammering with surprise. Norman was leaning against the archway between the living-room and kitchen, arms folded and sharp blue eyes looking worriedly at him. “Y’alright?” Ethan wondered with a rush of embarrassment how long the other man had been standing there.</p><p>“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uh, out of breath, from chasing Shaun around. How’re you? Feeling okay?”</p><p>The other man raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by his explanation, but didn’t question it, shrugging as he pushed away from the wall.</p><p>“Yeah, much better; thanks. Sorry, for, uh...y’know.” Ethan frowned and shook his head, hating how the other man seemed to retreat away into himself at even the vaguest offer of help.</p><p>“That’s no problem; it’s not like you asked to get sick. You’re, uh, you’re okay though, right?” His friend only smiled lop-sidedly and nodded, the premature lines on his face pronounced in the bright sunlight. He looked tired, but there was more colour in his cheeks than before he’d passed out.</p><p>“Yeah. Tripto withdrawal gets weird after a couple weeks; the cramps stop, but stuff like dizziness and headaches can get a lot worse. Sorry, I should’ve said somethin’ earlier —”</p><p>“It’s fine, I — I understand, it’s not...easy to talk about.” He thought with a painful dropping in his stomach of Brady: the taut, heavy silences that had hung between them those last weeks, the misery and silent pleading in the other’s eyes even when he’d never admit to having a problem, let alone needing help...</p><p>“We, uh, we got any eggs left?” He looked up, blinking himself out of his reverie. Norman smiled crookedly and shrugged, his blue eyes apologetic. “I’m kinda hungry; figure I should eat while I can before I freakin’ disappear.”</p><p>“Right, yeah. That’s — that’s a good idea. Sit down, I’ll fix you something.”</p><p>There was silence for a time while he retrieved the eggs, cracking them carefully into a frying pan, sunny-side up. Ethan’s chest felt tight, conflicting emotions shifting and writhing inside him. Brady’s gaunt face and hollow eyes kept invading his thoughts, intensifying the social awkwardness and general anxiety and muddled feelings about the man sitting at the table behind him. He was worried about Norman because he was a good man, and a friend; because the other had helped prove Ethan’s innocence, and given him a chance to save his son; because he reminded him of Brady; because —</p><p>The harsh sizzle of oil broke into his thoughts and he cursed, transferring the eggs quickly to a plate before they could burn. Norman had his chin perched on one hand, staring thoughtfully into space when he turned back around; the other blinked and shook himself when Ethan set the plate down in front of him, flashing a smile.</p><p>“Thanks, Mars. I owe ya.” The other’s East Coast drawl sounded like treacle in his ears, intelligent blue eyes meeting his own for a moment, and Ethan felt something shift in his gut, had to grip the back of the chair in front of him to keep his hands steady.</p><p>“No problem.” He didn’t know what else to say, suddenly wanting to leave the room, melt into the floor, anything to escape the awkwardness suddenly threatening to choke him.</p><p>“Mm.” Norman took a bite of his food, eyes widening as he smiled appreciatively. “This’s really good! I, uh, I told Shaun I got this disease called Idiotmoronitis.”</p><p>“Exclusively affects stupid adults from Boston; he told me.” Ethan shook his head, the awkwardness dissolving as he smothered a chuckle. “That was, uh...” The other man grinned back, shrugging.</p><p>“Well what was I gonna say: ‘I’m a Tripto junkie, withdrawal is fuckin’ me over in weird ways, you’ll understand when you’re older’?” Ethan smiled and shook his head, leaning back against the counter.</p><p>“I was gonna say it was pretty creative. Not exactly fair to you though.” The other man only shrugged, gaze dropping to his food.</p><p>“Eh, it is what it is, right? With the Tripto...y’know I had a choice, an’ I chose wrong. Ain’t nothing more to it than that.”</p><p>“Except you’re trying to fix it.” Ethan wet his lips, pushing Brady’s hollow face firmly out of his mind. “To make a different choice, one that other people in your situation can’t or...won’t make. That doesn’t sound stupid to me.” Norman remained quiet for a moment, apparently thinking, before looking up with a lop-sided smile, gratitude shining in his eyes.</p><p>“Thanks, Mars. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to remember that.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. It's Kind of a Funny Story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Agent Jayden?” Norman smiled, gearing up to answer the kid’s next round of 20 Questions.</p><p>“Yeah bud?” They were sitting in a booth at the local Dairy Queen: Ethan had taken Shaun along as a reward for acing his latest English test, and dragged Norman with them on the grounds that he was still way too thin for his height and needed the calories.</p><p>“How’d you get that scar?”</p><p>“Shaun.” Ethan frowned, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You can’t just ask someone that.”</p><p>“Nah, it’s alright. Y’mean this?” Norman pointed to his cheek, faking an innocent look to draw out the suspense.</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>“Ah. See, technically, that’s classified information.” He leaned over the table conspiratorially, flashing Ethan a grin over his son’s head. “I can tell you, but you gotta keep it <em>real</em> quiet. Can you do that, Agent Mars?”</p><p>“Yes sir!” Shaun was staring awedly at him, brown eyes shining.</p><p>“Okay. So there we were, me an’ my partner, in this old factory down the Bronx, guys with samurai swords all ‘round us.” Norman grinned, spreading his hands and gesturing for effect as he settled into his story. “These were trained assassins, like ninjas: martial arts, throwin’ stars, the works. They stole this mob boss’s gold, and kidnapped his daughter as insurance, so they could cut a deal if they were caught. They didn’t bet on <em>us</em> finding ‘em before they could melt the gold down and turn it into cash.”</p><p>He paused as their ice-creams arrived, taking a bite of his own triple-chocolate-brownie flavoured sundae before continuing.</p><p>“So me an’ Joe, that’s my partner — we bust the door down, tell the bad guys to drop their weapons and let the girl go. They weren’t too happy about that, so they attacked us. One guy —” He tapped his cheek, taking another bite of brownie, “Got me right in the jaw, with a freakin’ throwing star. Hurt like a fothermucker.”</p><p>“What’d you do?!” Shaun was leaning forward across the table, his own ice-cream forgotten, totally absorbed. “Did you stop them?!” Norman nodded, throwing Ethan a reassuring look when the other man raised a warning eyebrow, and continued.</p><p>“So I’m standin’ there, twenty guys with katanas around me and a ho — a cut in my cheek, from this damn throwin’ star. My partner Joe, he’s at the other end of the factory kickin’ hell outta twenty other guys, so he can’t help me. So what I do is...” He trailed off, taking a sip of his soda and trying to come up with a suitable ending for the story. “So what I do is — first of all, I pick up that throwin’ star and toss it right back at the other guy. Hit ‘im right in the face, right here.” He tapped his forehead, threw Ethan an apologetic look at the other’s warning cough. “Then what I do next, I see the factory’s bein’ used to package oranges.”</p><p>Norman grinned himself at the idea, gesticulating to illustrate. “So there’s, like, <em>thousands</em> of oranges, just layin’ around everywhere, on conveyer belts and stuff. I fight my way through the bad guys — I’m doin’ jumping jacks, I’m turnin’ cartwheels while they’re tryna hit me with their swords, so they miss and run into each other instead.” He smiled at Shaun’s delighted expression, the kid’s eyes wide. “I get to the middle of the factory, and turn on all the machines: all these oranges start flyin’ out from everywhere, like a storm of ‘em! The bad guys are freakin’ out and running all over, they dunno what to do. My partner’s seen what I’m doin’, and he runs over to help me: together we grab the gold, save the girl, and get outta there before the bad guys know what hit ‘em.” He smiled proudly, taking another bite of sundae. “They all got arrested once back-up arrived, and me an’ my partner got promoted; heck, ol’ Joe even got a medal for punchin’ the lead bad guy in the face.”</p><p>“That’s so cool!” Shaun was bouncing up and down in his seat, more animated than Norman had seen him in the time he’d known the family; the thought made him smile.</p><p>
  <em>Kid must really be recovering, after everythin’ that happened. That’s good.</em>
</p><p>“Dad, I’m <em>totally</em> gonna be an FBI agent when I grow up!”</p><p>“In that case, you’d better finish your sundae huh?” Ethan ruffled his son’s hair fondly, amusement and a hint of admiration in his eyes where he caught Norman’s gaze.</p><p>“Yup.” Norman took a bite of his own ice-cream, gesturing with his spoon. “Bein’ an agent is serious business: only the best of the best can get in. In particular, you gotta remember t’do your homework, eat plenty vegetables, and get to bed on time.” Ethan chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee.</p><p>“I don’t see you being very diligent about those things, Agent Jayden.” The other man’s eyes sparkled with amusement above his coffee cup; the use of his ex-title made Norman’s ears prick up, and a tingle shoot through his loins. He grunted quietly, embarrassment curdling with warmth in his gut, and shoved the feeling away.</p><p>“Yeah well, I’m already trained, ain’t I? Can afford to relax, ‘specially when I’m on vacation.”</p><p>“I thought the FBI motto was ‘always ready’.” He snorted and kicked the other gently under the table, shaking his head.</p><p>“That’s the coastguard, idiot. Ours is ‘fidelity, bravery, integrity’, like the damn initials.”</p><p>“I...Is it just me, or does that seem kind of nerdy, the way it lines up like that?”</p><p>“Shut up, Mars.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Shaun disappeared up to his room immediately after dinner that evening, citing homework obligations and a strange new desire to go to bed early. It was an unusually pleasant night in Philadelphia, dry and clear, and the adults ended up decamping to the back porch after clearing away the dinner things.</p><p>Norman leaned across his knees and sighed contentedly, the smell of the sycamore trees sweet in his nostrils as he looked up at the stars. Ethan re-emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, setting a six-pack of Budweiser on the decking before sitting down alongside him. Norman blinked, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“We celebratin’?” The other smiled, shrugging.</p><p>“Why not? It’s a nice night, and I don’t get many guests I can drink with. Drinking alone is, er...”</p><p>“Yeah.” Norman grabbed a couple of bottles, throwing the other man one and raising his own with a smile. “To good weather, and good company.” The other smiled, knocking his bottle against Norman’s own.</p><p>“I’ll drink to that.”</p><p>They sat contentedly for a time, chatting about Ethan’s work and Norman’s thoughts on job-hunting, and enjoying the warm night air.</p><p>“So, I’ve gotta ask — how much of that story you told Shaun was actually true?” Ethan grinned, nudging his elbow. “I have this image of you throwing oranges at people, and I kinda want it to have actually happened.” Norman grinned himself and shook his head, finishing the last of his beer and reaching for another.</p><p>“Yeah, sorry to disappoint; there weren’t no oranges. I mean...there was an old factory down the Bronx; Joe was there; there was a girl, though she weren’t no mobster’s daughter: just some chick in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I did get my face cut up, just not with a throwin’ star.” He rubbed reflexively at his jaw, feeling the raised line in the skin where the injury had scarred over.</p><p>Ethan nodded thoughtfully, silence settling between them for a few moments.</p><p>“So...what <em>did</em> actually happen?” Norman pulled a face and shrugged, looking at his feet.</p><p>“Ah, it’s another long story. The real-life version ain’t as interesting.”</p><p>“We’ve got time.”</p><p>“Nah, you’ve heard enough dumb stories outta me. Tell me one about you.” Ethan smiled and shrugged himself, finishing his own beer before twisting the cap off another.</p><p>“What’s to tell? You probably know everything worth knowing about me from the information I gave the police, and everything else is just, well...boring. Studied architecture at college; married Grace at 20; had Jason and Shaun; moved to Philadelphia; lived life as normal for the next 10 years, before Jason...”</p><p>The other man trailed off, a bone-deep grief spasming across his face. Norman frowned sympathetically and clasped the other’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Ethan swallowed hard, taking a couple of deep breaths, and shook his head, wiping a hand across his eyes.</p><p>“Sorry, I just...”</p><p>“S’okay. Some things...y’know. They don’t really get better; you just learn to live with ‘em without gettin’ crushed every day.”</p><p>“That’s true.” The other man grimaced hard, shaking his head. “I can’t help thinking, y’know, even now: if I hadn’t been so careless, if I’d kept hold of his hand, if I’d just been faster getting to the road I might’ve...” Ethan trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “It should’ve been me. Y’know? It should’ve been me.”</p><p>“If it had, who’d have saved Shaun?”</p><p>The other man stilled for several moments, before turning to look at him, blue eyes wide and shining with tears. Norman shrugged slightly uncomfortably and released the other’s shoulder, hoping he hadn’t said the wrong thing. “I don’t — lemme get it straight here, I ain’t saying you should’ve lost one kid to save the other. I’m sayin’ if you died, both Jason and Shaun would’ve too. An’ fucking Scott Shelby would’ve got away with his crimes, and gone on to murder more kids. So...” He trailed off and looked at his feet again, bracing himself for the other man to order him out of his house.</p><p>Ethan looked contemplatively at the bottle in his hands for several long minutes, before looking up, blue eyes meeting Norman’s own when he glanced up himself.</p><p>“I’d...never thought of it like that before. I...I guess you’re right.” Norman shrugged, finishing his beer and restraining a sudden urge to throw the bottle against the fence opposite.</p><p>“I’ll tell you this much: thinkin’ it should’ve been you? All that does is land you where I am. You got a nice house, good career, great kid; sure it’s hard as hell sometimes, but y’gotta keep pushin’ forward, even when all’s you wanna do is curl up and die. Y’know?”</p><p>There was a heavy silence. Norman could feel the other’s gaze on him, set the empty bottle to one side before he really did throw it across the yard.</p><p>“I understand. If I didn’t have Shaun I...I definitely wouldn’t be here right now. Did you...lose someone?”</p><p>He sighed and slumped forward across his knees, shutting his eyes for a moment.</p><p>“...Yeah. Y’know my partner, on that case I was tellin’ Shaun about? He...” He sighed heavily again, scrubbing both hands down his face. “He died, tryna rescue the girl that got mixed up in the deal. My fault.”</p><p>“Christ. I’m...I’m so sorry, Norman.”</p><p>He shook his head, setting his jaw and rubbing a hand across his eyes. A warm hand clasped his shoulder, squeezing gently, and he leaned into the touch with a grateful shiver.</p><p>“We were, uh...we weren’t even supposed t’be there. The job was to track down the buyer for some big-time drug lord; we had no data on where the merchandise was goin’, so Joe and me were put on the case to build up a profile. Help the FDA get out in front of the deal before it went down, and the guy went to ground again.” He sighed shakily, grimacing. “It was, what, my third time in the field? I was stupid, reckless, didn’t know shit about how the job really worked and wanted to prove myself. We were supposed to track the guy to the merchandise, then sit on ‘im until the buyer arrived and back-up got there. I figured I could get the drop on ‘em; be the big hero, wrap up the operation single-handedly, stupid shit like that. Joe told me to stay put, an’ I didn’t listen.”</p><p>He paused and took a breath, staring at the ground beneath his shoes. “When I got inside, there was about ten more guys there than I’d been expecting. After they kicked the crap outta me, the guy we were trackin’ gets ahold of me; sticks a knife under my throat, tells me...er, some unpleasant things ‘bout what he’s gonna do with me an’ my pretty face once he’s done with the deal. Joe busts in; I guess he sees me strugglin’ and takes a pot shot at the guy. Guy ducks, takes me down with him, the knife comes up, ends up slicin’ up my face.” He indicated the space between his cheekbone and jaw, rubbing unconsciously at the scar. “M’lucky I didn’t lose an eye. The, uh, the blade kinda caught against my jaw; went in real deep, right there. Guess that’s why it never healed up.”</p><p>His hands had started trembling again, whether from withdrawal or just plain stress he didn’t know. Norman swallowed hard and finished the last of his drink, felt the other man sling a supportive arm around his shoulders. The weight and warmth was incredibly reassuring, bolts of electricity fizzing across his skin as his body drank in the contact. “N-Next thing I remember is Joe haulin’ my ass off the ground, yelling at me to move. The gang had split, and the whole place had been rigged to blow to destroy the evidence. Joe’d grabbed some papers; shipping receipts proving where the merchandise was headed. We were almost out when —” He broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose with a grimace. “There was this girl: I dunno if she was part of the gang or just a witness or what, but they’d tied her up back in the factory. Joe...” He trailed off again, breathing deeply and blinking hard. “Joe gave me the papers and told me to get outta there. Told me he had to go get the girl. The place was gonna blow, there wasn’t...wasn’t time, I tried to tell ‘im, tried to <em>stop</em> ‘im but he —”</p><p>Norman broke off, gritting his teeth and swiping away the tears before they could fall. “I think he knew, y’know? Just wouldn’t freakin’ leave her there. We were on the second level; they barricaded the doors shut, so there weren’t no way out downstairs. Joe, he —” He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “He shoved me out the second storey window onto a load of crates; broke like half my bones. I guess he knew I’d have gone after him if he didn’t. Place went up like a box of fireworks before back-up was even close.”</p><p>“God. That...” Ethan trailed off with a grimace, squeezing his shoulders. “I’m so sorry. T-That isn’t…I mean…”</p><p>“S’okay. There ain’t really anythin’ you can say.”</p><p>“No.” The other frowned deeply, shaking his head. “No, there isn’t.”</p><p>Norman wiped both hands down his face with a shaky sigh, swallowing hard, and slipped out of the other’s hold to reach for another beer. “The, uh...the merchandise was recovered, right where the receipts said it would be, but the buyer got away and we had nothin’ to stick the fuckin’ seller with, so he walked.” He grimaced and took a swig, anger at himself bubbling up inside his chest. “Joe died for nothin’, and if I’d just sat my <em>damn</em> ass in the car like he told me none of it woulda happened!”</p><p>There was another long silence. The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had come, displaced by exhaustion and a familiar, hopeless sadness. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, leaning into the other man gratefully when Ethan nudged a shoulder against his own. It took him a moment to realise that the trembling in his hands hadn’t increased like usual when he was stressed.</p><p>“What was he like? Joe, I mean.” Norman smiled lop-sidedly and shrugged, digging in his jeans pocket for his wallet.</p><p>“He was a really great guy. Really great. Taught me everythin’ I know ‘bout police work.” He slid a photo, the only one he had of anyone, out of his wallet, passing it over. Joe and his younger self grinned out from the paper, the older man’s arm around his shoulders and fingers up behind his head in rabbit ears while Norman himself looked somewhat alarmedly at the camera. “I guess he was kinda what I think my Dad would’ve been like, if he wasn’t a giant asshole.”</p><p>Ethan smiled lop-sidedly himself, finishing the last of his beer and twisting the cap off another, before taking the photograph to examine it.</p><p>“He looks like a great guy. And you’re so young!” Norman chuckled dryly and took a swig of beer, shaking his head. It had been a while since they’d eaten, and a good few months since he’d drank anything stronger than coffee; he was starting to feel pleasantly buzzed.</p><p>“Funny what five years’ll do to a guy, huh?”</p><p>“<em>Joe W. Hannigan and Norman Jayden, aka Butch and Sundance. Quantico Academy, 2006.</em>” Ethan grinned at the dedication, passing the photo back. “That doesn’t look like your handwriting.” Norman snorted a laugh, tucking the photo back into his wallet.</p><p>“You kiddin’? Joe was the joker, I’m the one who did everythin’ by the book! He was an ex-beat cop from New York; did twenty-seven years’ service with the bureau before gettin’ partnered with my rookie ass, and didn’t give a damn about nothin’.” Some vague part of his brain noted he was starting to run his mouth off, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “I don’t think he called me by my name the whole time we worked together. Was always ‘kid’; ‘Jayden’, if he was pissed; ‘Sundance’ if he was messin’ with me.” He smiled at the memory, shaking his head and finishing the last of his beer. “He was due to retire in 5 years, before...” He trailed off with a tight swallow, grimacing. “Always said he’d die with his boots on, stupid bastard.”</p><p>“He must’ve been really dedicated.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He swallowed, eyeing the other’s half-finished beer. “You, uh, you gonna finish that?” The other shook his head, passing him the bottle. Norman took a swig, shrugging. “Always did the right thing, y’know? Looked out for people no matter what it cost ‘im, protocol be damned. Hell, this one time I was late for work — Joe fuckin’ kicked my door in before the guy I was seein’ had —”</p><p>He broke off, mouth going dry at the admission. Ethan’s eyes widened, eyebrows raising almost imperceptibly, but the other man only nodded, dropping him a lop-sided smile. Norman swallowed tightly, unsure of how to take that, but the other was looking steadily at him, apparently unfazed. He looked away and coughed, trying to roll the sudden, screaming tension out of his shoulders. It was out now anyway, and Ethan didn’t seem like the judgemental type; he finished the last of the other’s beer in one long swig and decided just to run with it.</p><p>“Uh, yeah. It, uh, didn’t bother him at all, y’know? Jus’, told me to get dressed and get my ass in the car before we were late for mornin’ briefing.” He shook his head, chuckling tightly. “I, uh, I thought he was gonna freak: all he said was ‘so long as they’re of legal age, consenting, alive, and human, I don’t care who you stick your dick in so long as you get to work on time.’” Ethan smiled himself, chuckling.</p><p>“Sounds like he would’ve made a great dad.”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, he would. He <em>did</em> — he had a wife an’ three kids. I went over there on Christmas a few times. It was...” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose at the memory. “Jeez. I, I told them, after...what happened. I wanted it t’be me who went. Marge, his wife, she — she told me it should’ve been me.” He paused, the words still ringing in his ears. “I agree with her, y’know? Joe helped a helluva lot of people, had people depending on ‘im — I ain’t got nothin’ like that. It should’ve been me.”</p><p>Ethan frowned deeply, leaning forward across his knees and shaking his head.</p><p>“Norman, you’ve helped a helluva lot of people too. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if it wasn’t for you — my son wouldn’t be <em>alive</em> if you hadn’t believed I was innocent, and helped keep me out of jail long enough to find him.” Norman shrugged, looking at his feet.</p><p>“That wasn’t me though, was it? That was ARI.” He smiled crookedly, shaking his head. “Y’know they tried to get me a new partner, after Joe? I told ‘em I didn’t want anyone, but they tried anyway. I just made an ass of myself each time someone got assigned until they asked to be transferred. Guess that’s why they picked me for the ARI programme: lone agents are a liability, less so if you give ‘em fancy tech. The Triptocaine was a nice perk, moreso when I figured out how well it worked for makin’ me not care about the stuff that kept me up at night.”</p><p>He smiled crookedly, raising an eyebrow at the other. “So there ya go, Mr Mars. Anythin’ else you wanna know ‘bout my personal history?”</p><p>“What’s your favourite colour?” He burst out laughing at that, shaking his head.</p><p>“<em>Seriously</em>?!”</p><p>“Why not?” The other man shrugged, smiling.</p><p>“Jeez. Okay; I can guess what yours is, so it’s only fair.”</p><p>“What?” Ethan frowned, looking almost offended. “How?” Norman smiled, shaking his head.</p><p>“Well lesee. Your house is full of various shades of blue fabric. You drive a blue car. Roughly three out of every five shirts you wear in a week is blue. Your most worn pair of sneakers is blue. You have more blue ties than any other colour. Kinda obvious when you know what to look for.”</p><p>“That...huh.” The other man nodded slowly, looking impressed. “Didn’t realise I was that easy to read.”</p><p>“I’m an agent — <em>was</em> an agent, I got an unfair advantage. Your turn.” Ethan frowned, blue eyes studying him intently; far from being unwelcome, the other’s attention made warmth flare in his gut.</p><p>“Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen enough of your personal belongings to make a fair assessment.” Norman huffed a chuckle, shrugging.</p><p>“Seems reasonable. It’s green.” The other man smiled, nodding.</p><p>“Green. Suits you.” He raised an eyebrow, blinking.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It just...seems a ‘you’ kind of colour.”</p><p>“Alright, c’mon.” Norman prepared for getting himself to his feet, realising suddenly just how cold he was. “We’re drunk, and it’s fuckin’ freezing out here.” A warm hand found his shoulder, before Ethan offered him a hand up; he smiled and took it, surprised by the other’s strength when the other man pulled him up to standing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Beer bottles disposed of in the trash outside, and they were heading back into the warm, the house dark and quiet in the dead of night. Norman flopped down onto the sofa with a sigh, rubbing a hand across his eyes. Alcohol or no alcohol, he felt both mentally buzzed and wrung-out emotionally enough that trying to sleep right now would definitely result in nightmares.</p><p>“You’re not going to bed?” He shook his head wearily, rubbing a hand across his eyes.</p><p>“Nah. Drank too much, talked too much shit. I can’t sleep when I feel like this.”</p><p>“You, uh, want me to keep you company?” He smiled lop-sidedly and shook his head.</p><p>“Nah, you don’t gotta do that.”</p><p>“Okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave the bathroom light on so you can find your way up, later.”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Something tore inside his chest as the other man padded away; Norman winced and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply and fighting to get a grip on the pain suddenly ripping through him. He hadn’t anticipated how much he’d enjoyed Ethan’s company, the casual human contact, just listening to the other man and talking about things he’d never really told anyone before.</p><p>
  <em>C’mon Jayden, this ain’t new. People always leave eventually, you know that. Pull it together dammit.</em>
</p><p>He took a breath and wiped a hand down his face, shaking himself. He’d been doing so fucking well — 4.5 weeks clean and counting, hadn’t so much as <em>thought</em> about Tripto outside of the steadily receding withdrawal effects. He gritted his teeth and tugged at his hair, clenching his trembling hands and trying to push the thought out of his mind. Just don’t think about it; think about something else, anything else that’ll hold your attention; ride it out until it stops. He could do this, he had before. Don’t think about the vials stashed in your suitcase, how easy it would be to go upstairs and grab one, how good it would feel to just take a little, not even a full vial, just enough to take the edge off —</p><p>The sofa depressed slightly beside him, and he glanced up, blinking. Ethan was frowning worriedly at him, blue eyes meeting his own in the dim light.</p><p>“You okay?” He nodded shakily, scrubbing both hands down his face.</p><p>“...Yeah. Yeah, m’fine.”</p><p>“Withdrawal?” He smiled lop-sidedly, a warm glow flaring in his chest at the lack of judgement in the other’s voice.</p><p>“Not exactly. You, uh, you ever get...you ever get nightmares, Mars?” The other man pursed his lips and nodded, frowning.</p><p>“I have a prescription for sleeping pills that could down a horse, but they don’t exactly mix well with beer. But yeah, if I don’t take them I...I do.” Norman frowned, sitting forward himself to look at the other.</p><p>“Y’never told me that. ‘Bout the pills.” Ethan only shrugged, shaking his head with a rueful smile.</p><p>“It never came up. Guess I’m still pretty invested in pretending like I have it all together.”</p><p>“I get that. Just, uh, don’t start popping ‘em during the day, y’know?” The other man smiled faintly, shaking his head.</p><p>“No way; I need to be there for Shaun.”</p><p>Norman nodded, gripping the edge of the sofa to try and stop the trembling in his hands.</p><p>“I uh...y’know normally I’d...I’d take a hit when I feel like this; stop me thinkin’ and help me sleep.” He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Kinda...Kinda don’t know what to do without it, y’know?” The other man frowned sympathetically and nodded, leaning forward across his knees to look at him.</p><p>“I could...y’know, I could...stay with you, if that would help?” He jerked up with a start, stomach flipping at the question.</p><p>“What the fuck’re you askin’ me, Mars?”</p><p>“Oh, God no — I-I didn’t mean —” The other man broke off with a grimace, shaking his head. “No, sorry, I — no. God, I’m sorry — w-what I meant was, well — Shaun sleeps with me sometimes when his nightmares get bad, it seems to help both of us sleep better. Dr Dupre mentioned something about physical contact being reassuring — I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have —”</p><p>“I-It’s fine. I, uh...” He trailed off, blinking against a sudden wave of tears; he didn’t feel sad exactly, couldn’t say where the tears had come from. He couldn’t manage to speak for a few moments, only nodded shakily when the other looked anxiously at him. “Uh...I...y-y-yeah? S-Sure. If you’re...y’know. Not — Not freaked out or nothin’.” Ethan only frowned and shook his head, getting up from the sofa after a moment and gesturing for him to follow. Norman swallowed tightly and got up himself, anxiety crackling through him as they headed up the stairs.</p><p><em>Fuck, what the hell am I doing?! This is bad — I can’t be sharin’ a bed with the guy when I’m freaking sweet on him! </em>Shit<em>, how do I get outta this?</em></p><p>Norman took a steadying breath and pushed a hand through his hair, grimacing. Anxiety and the spiralling fear of what would happen if...something happened, were clamouring in his chest, screaming at him to make some lame excuse and run. But Ethan’s reassuring presence and non-judgemental, steady calmness were overwhelming, drawing him in no matter what he did to try and tear himself away. Terrible, irresponsible, completely bone-headed decision or not, he really, really didn’t want to leave the other man’s side.</p><p>They ended up in Norman’s room by unspoken agreement; he realised with a jolt that Ethan probably just intended to stick around until he fell asleep.</p><p>
  <em>Jeez, I ain’t some bratty kid needin’ babysat. Dammit, I should never have agreed to this. Freakin’ Mars and his freakin’ good samaritan, do-gooder bullshit.</em>
</p><p>Norman huffed a sigh and slipped awkwardly beneath the comforter, still fully-clothed, the mattress dipping as the other man lay down beside him. He realised with some surprise that Ethan had slipped under the bedclothes too, clearly intending to stay. It was strange having someone else in his bed after so long, even with the more-than-generous gap left between them. He’d have to be careful not to move too much<em>.</em></p><p>There was silence for a time bar their quiet breathing, the awkwardness slowly giving way to something like restful ease. Ethan’s warm presence really was reassuring in the chilly darkness of the room, damping down the painful memories and the attendant craving for Tripto and letting him relax more fully than he had for a long time. He wondered vaguely if Ethan felt the same, if the other’s offer had been as much to ease his own nightmares as to help Norman with his.</p><p>“You okay?” He smiled lop-sidedly at the whispered question, burrowing deeper into the comforter and shutting his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah. You?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He could hear the smile in the other’s voice, Ethan shifting beneath the covers himself as he settled down to sleep. The bed was already noticeably warmer than usual thanks to their combined body heat; the increase in temperature was comforting. “Good night, Norman.”</p><p>“G’night Mars.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Special Agent Norman fuckin’ Jayden: telling children’s stories which are 50% child-friendly, 50% Tarantino flick since 2011. Also some gratuitous bed-sharing because I can, and because these poor guys need love and comfort something awful.</p><p> </p><p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Indiscretion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ethan awoke slowly, pleasantly warm and feeling like he’d slept more deeply than he had for years. There was a warm body in his arms, his partner’s face pressed against his neck and soft hair tickling his chin. He pulled them closer instinctively, the other nuzzling their face into his shoulder with a contented moan as he rested his chin on their head, putting a hand to their hair.</p><p>Short, slightly fluffy hair that smelt like male cologne: musky and something like cinnamon.</p><p>He opened his eyes with a start, suddenly intimately aware of the relative proportions of the body in his arms; all sharp angles and hard-packed muscle instead of fine bones and soft curves.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>Norman was lying huddled up against him, head pillowed on his shoulder and fast asleep. He blinked at the other helplessly for a moment, before settling back down with a sigh, placing his arm awkwardly around his friend’s shoulders again. The other man must’ve rolled into him in the night, and Ethan had wrapped his arms around him thinking it was Grace in the bed.</p><p><em>At least he’s getting some sleep. Dammit, I should’ve put something between us; it’s freezing, no wonder this happened. It doesn’t </em>mean<em> anything — okay so he’s gay, or bi — I seriously doubt I’m his — and even if I </em>was<em>, it’s not — </em>I’m<em> not</em> <em>— Christ, who am I kidding.</em></p><p>“Dad!” He started and jerked upright at Shaun’s voice in the hallway, smoothed Norman’s hair when the other shifted restlessly at the movement.</p><p>“Give me a minute, Shaun! Shh, s’okay; go back to sleep.” He slipped his arm out carefully from beneath his friend, easing himself up off the mattress and tucking the comforter snugly around the other to compensate for the loss of heat. Norman’s thin face was relaxed in sleep, the premature lines around his eyes and across his forehead smoothed away. He looked genuinely young, and more relaxed than Ethan had ever seen him.</p><p>“Dad?” He turned to find Shaun standing in the doorway, blinking curiously. “Is Agent Jayden okay?”</p><p>“He’s fine; he’s sleeping. Are you ready for soccer practice?”</p><p>“Yup! Are you coming for breakfast?”</p><p>“Oh — yes, of course.” He glanced at the bedside clock, disorientated to find it reading 8:15; he’d overslept by nearly an hour and a half. “I’ll be down in a minute.”</p><p>He hovered for a moment, before opening the wardrobe and laying an extra blanket over the other man, rubbing a hand across his eyes. It felt like he shouldn’t leave yet, like there was something else to do, but he couldn’t think what.</p><p><em>What am I </em>doing<em>? I should just leave — he’s not going to remember anything when he wakes up, and even if he does it’s only awkward if we talk about it, which we won’t. Right. Okay — Shaun, I need to see him off to practice —</em></p><p>He took a last glance at the other man, making sure he was comfortable, before padding out the door, closing it gently behind him and hurrying downstairs.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Norman awoke fuzzily, luxuriously comfortable and more deeply relaxed then he could ever remember feeling. The bed around him was toasty-warm, the sheets smelling overpoweringly of man-musk, of Ethan — he started upright at the thought, eyes flying open. A jumble of sense-memories flooded him, the hazy shreds of a vivid dream: warm arms around him, pulling him close against a muscular chest; a gentle hand smoothing his hair; a sleep-husky voice murmuring something unintelligible in his ear. But he was alone in the bed, early-morning sunlight filtering in through the closed blinds, and fully dressed beneath the sheets.</p><p>Norman groaned and shook himself, scrubbing at his eyes.</p><p><em>Jesus Jayden, get ahold of yourself! You shared a mattress with the guy, that’s all that happened; fuck I hope I wasn’t moanin’ or some shit during the night. Dammit, I seriously need to get laid; I’ll have a hard-on just hearin’ him talk next. </em>Fuck<em>.</em></p><p>He huffed a sigh and flopped back onto the mattress, muscles heavy with sleep and reluctant to leave the warmth. The smell of the other man still clinging to the bedsheets was more delicious than it had any right to be; he pulled the blankets back over himself and buried his face in the pillow beneath his head, a moan catching in his throat at the musky scent. His brain noted absently that he’d shifted to Ethan’s side of the bed at some point after the other man had gotten up, embarrassment washing through him at the thought.</p><p><em>Christ, now I’m following his scent in my sleep? That’s just pathetic. Pathetic and freakin’ </em>creepy<em>, Jesus.</em></p><p>He shifted onto his back and rubbed a hand across his eyes, glancing at the clock. 10:54; Shaun would have left for soccer practice hours ago, and Ethan would be holed up in his office, absorbed in some architecture commission. Norman shut his eyes and let himself relax back into the mattress, tugging his belt loose and unzipping his jeans. If his brain was determined to torture him with unrequited attraction, he might as well make the most of it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ethan dropped his pen with a sigh and rubbed his hands down his face, scrubbing at his eyes. It had gotten dark outside; he’d been working on this latest commission all day, and the lines were still refusing to come out right. Largely because a certain wiry, blue-eyed man kept intruding into his thoughts and dragging his concentration away from whatever he was doing. Ethan sighed and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose against the beginnings of a headache. Norman hadn’t appeared until 12:30 that afternoon, padding down the stairs with his hair damp from the shower and blinking blearily. He’d clearly needed the sleep, and a distant part of Ethan’s brain had noted that the other’s just-awake fuzziness was ridiculously adorable.</p><p>“Hey.” He glanced around, blinking as he was pulled out of his thoughts. Norman was leaning in the doorway of his office; coat on and hair artfully mussed, he looked like he was dressed for a party. “I uh, m’going out. Dunno when I’ll be back, so don’t wait up.”</p><p>“Oh, uh, okay. Sure.” Ethan frowned, catching sight of the clock on the wall. “Wait, I — I don’t mean to be rude, but, <em>where</em>? It’s 10:30 at night.”</p><p>“Yeah, I uh...” The other trailed off, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Y’know. Out.” He felt his eyes widen, stomach dropping with alarm at what that could mean. The other man seemed to realise what he was thinking, throwing him a flat look. “I ain’t gonna score, Mars, Jesus. Not that kinda scoring anyway; I’ve still got enough state-sanctioned Tripto to last me a month.” Ethan only blinked rapidly, confused; his friend groaned and put a hand to his forehead, his expression pained. “Jesus, don’t make me spell it out! C’mon — what’s a single guy in his twenties, in his best damn clothes, goin’ out to do on a Saturday night?”</p><p>“Oh. <em>Oh</em>. Right. I, uh...sorry. I never...y’know. Never...never really did that back in college.”</p><p>“Yeah, no shit. Look I’ll be back...whenever. I ain’t bringin’ anybody home, either, so you ain’t gotta worry.”</p><p>“Right. I’ll uh...see you whenever, I guess.” He frowned as the other man turned to leave, twisting around in his seat. “Dh — stay safe, Norman.” His friend smiled lop-sidedly, nodding, before padding off down the hall.</p><p>“Sure thing, Mars.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Norman didn’t have a particular destination in mind when he caught a cab downtown; it was dry out, if cold, so nice for wandering around, and he wasn’t familiar enough with Philadelphia night life to have a set idea of where to go.</p><p>The city streets were buzzing, the bars and clubs just beginning to open up when the rest of the city was shutting down for the night. He settled on a place called The Viper Pit: large, central location, unshowy without being scuzzy or rundown, and unambiguously catering to gay men.</p><p>It had been quite literally years since he’d stepped into a club sober. Norman swallowed hard as his social anxiety kicked in full force, made his way quickly over to the bar. There was a vacant space at the far end, near the wall; he slipped through the crowds and grabbed a spot there, breathing a sigh of relief. There was something incredibly reassuring about having a wall at one side of you when surrounded by people: something to shield you, something to lean on, something to bust people’s heads against if it got to that point. Norman took a steadying breath and gulped down his drink, focussing on the slippery, pock-marked bar top beneath his hands.</p><p>
  <em>Jesus Jayden, calm the hell down. You’re here to drink an’ get laid, not freakin’ arrest anyone. Couldn’t now even if I wanted to, I ain’t got any handcuffs.</em>
</p><p>He smiled wryly at the alternative directions that thought could lead, draining the rest of his drink and ordering another. The music was far and away the best thing about this place; a pulsing, grinding mix of electronica and industrial metal. He’d always hated the heat and bodily crush of clubbing even with a tube of Tripto in his veins, but it was the fastest, easiest, and relatively speaking safest, way to get what he needed right now.</p><p>He sighed and knocked back another couple of drinks, scanning the clientele with a mixture of need and impatience. A muscular man sporting a leather jacket, beard, and various piercings was leaning on the bar nearby, knocking back a glass of something as though it was medicine. Sharp grey eyes caught his own in passing, the other man blatantly checking him out, before pushing away from the bar and swaggering over. Norman swallowed the rest of his drink in a single gulp, getting to his feet himself. He’d drunk enough by now to feel pleasantly muzzy; nowhere near as good a high as Tripto, but enough to loosen his tongue and his inhibitions as necessary. Good thing random hook-ups didn’t usually involve a huge amount of small talk.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ethan ended up staying up past 2am, picking distractedly at the drawing he was doing and trying to ignore the worry clawing at his brain.</p><p>
  <em>This is ridiculous, he’ll be fine. The man’s an ex-FBI agent for God’s sake, he can look after himself! I really need to stop this. I’m only feeling like this because of Brady — God, it’s an insult to both of them. Get a grip on yourself Ethan, c’mon. It’s a stupid crush; ignore it and it’ll go away.</em>
</p><p>He started as the front door slammed, familiar footsteps padding up the stairs a few moments later.</p><p>“Mars?” Norman’s voice sounded louder and more relaxed than usual; not quite slurred, but definitely more inebriated than Ethan had heard him previously. A bolt of worry went through him at the thought that his friend might be starting to substitute alcohol for Triptocaine. “Y’still up?” Ethan frowned and shifted in his chair, cursing himself. The other man’s accent got noticeably thicker with exhaustion, stress, drink, or anger; pretty much anything that could be called a state of heightened arousal. That treacly East Coast drawl made electricity spark across his skin, brain helpfully filling in the blanks regarding what the other man would sound like in bed — he shook himself hard, cursing.</p><p>
  <em>Dammit. This is totally inappropriate, I can’t be thinking like this —</em>
</p><p>“Yes. Working. I’m in here.”</p><p>The door to his office creaked open, before his friend was leaning over the back of his chair, crowding Ethan’s space where he peered interestedly at his work.</p><p>“Whassa matter? Thought you’d be done by now.”</p><p>“Me too. This commission is really giving me trouble.” In truth, he’d barely got any work done all night due to worrying about Norman, but he was hardly going to admit that.</p><p>“Hmm.” The other man frowned, squinting at the paper. Clothes askew and hair even more mussed than before he’d left, he smelt rather pleasantly of alcohol, blue eyes fever-bright and a faint smell of tobacco on his clothes, although Ethan knew for a fact the other didn’t smoke. A few reddish-purple marks were visible on the other’s neck above his collar, trailing down to disappear beneath his shirt. Ethan felt a flare of anger at the sight, hot and strong in his chest; he frowned and tamped it down with a few steadying breaths, disturbed by the sudden, inexplicable surge of emotion. The marks definitely weren’t fingerprints, Norman wasn’t black-out drunk to the point of incapacity, and his friend wasn’t dishevelled or sporting any visible injuries; nor did he seem upset or distressed, far from it. There was no good reason for Ethan to be feeling protective to the point of outrage that someone had —</p><p>“Well, I can give ya the psych profile of s’meone who’d buy that house, but I ain’t got much more than that.” He smiled despite himself, belated relief washing through him just to have the other man at his side, safe and whole and actually smiling where those vivid blue eyes met his own.</p><p>“Yeah? Shoot.”</p><p>“Lesee. Yuppie suburban couple, mid-to-late thirties, no kids but plannin’ on it. Wealthy, but not super-rich; keepin’ up with the Joneses, got some’in to prove. Fancy car’s too expensive to run in the city on a middle-manager’s salary for the crappy mileage, so the statement purchase is’sa house. Fancy angles, spiral staircases, lotsa glass: combo of insecurity, pretentiousness, an’ too much money to throw around.”</p><p>Ethan chuckled quietly, raising his eyebrows in admiration.</p><p>“That’s, uh, actually incredibly accurate, going by the impression I got of them.”</p><p>“Eh. S’the job, right?”</p><p>“No, it’s you. You got the job because you’re fantastic at what you do, even drunk.”</p><p>“M’not drunk.” The other frowned a trifle petulantly, rubbing at one eye; Ethan had to smother a smile.</p><p>“You’re a little drunk.”</p><p>“Shut up, Mars.”</p><p>Norman grinned lop-sidedly and elbowed him in the shoulder, his eyes sparkling. “How’s about I profile the guy who did the drawing?” Ethan paused, a subtle charge filling the air between them at the question.</p><p>“...Okay. Shoot.”</p><p>“Hmm. Dedicated, obviously. Attentive to details. Methodical. Bit conservative, but creative, too. Real artistic. Thinks ou’side the box. Thinks about other people a lot. Responsible when he wants t’be. Sensitive. Passionate. Real good with his hands.”</p><p>“That’s, uh...” Ethan chuckled and swallowed it into a cough, finding himself suddenly unable to meet the other’s eye. “C’mon, we both need to sleep. It’s been a long night.”</p><p>“Mmn.”</p><p>Ethan clapped the other man on the shoulder as he got to his feet, found himself squeezing a trifle protectively at Norman’s suddenly morose expression. He found he didn’t want to let go, would’ve pulled the other man into a hug if it wouldn’t have made the already-charged situation downright dangerous for both of them. His friend was drunk; it was crucial Ethan get him to bed before anything happened that they’d both regret.</p><p>“You okay?” The other nodded, rubbing a hand across his eyes.</p><p>“Yeah. Just needa sleep.” He nodded himself, leading the way back along the corridor.</p><p>“C’mon then.”</p><p>“Y’gonna stay?” He froze at the question, Norman blinking blearily at him where the other man stepped into his own room, the threshold suddenly conspicuous between them.</p><p>“I...uh...” Ethan pushed a hand through his hair, heart clenching at the almost mournful expression on the other’s face. “Not tonight, Norman. I can stay until you fall asleep if you want, but...”</p><p>“S’okay; I gettit.” The other shook his head, smiling lop-sidedly. “Sorry, for makin’ shit awkward. Feel like tha’s all I ever say, or all I ever do.”</p><p>“I think I’m about even with you there.”</p><p>“Mmn.” He watched with concern as his friend padded away into the room, flopping down on the mattress fully-clothed.</p><p>“Norman?”</p><p>“Mmn?” Ethan frowned, wishing he could convince the other to get up and change, but that didn’t seem likely, and there was no way he was undressing a drunk man even with the purest of pure intentions.</p><p>“Lay on your side, okay? In case you throw up.”</p><p>“Didn’t drink that much.”</p><p>“Still.” Ethan grimaced, resolved to check on the other before heading to bed himself to make sure he was all right. “Okay, well. G’night.”</p><p>“‘Night, Mars.”</p><p>
  <em>For God’s sake, Norman. What are we getting ourselves into here?</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A Visitor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Norman started and glanced up as the doorbell rang, frowning.</p><p>
  <em>Huh? No packages due, Shaun’s in the park with his friends, and I ain’t expecting anyone.</em>
</p><p>The bell rang again.</p><p>“Mars! Y’gonna get that?” No response. He sighed and shook his head, setting Ethan’s borrowed laptop aside and hopping to his feet. “Jeez. Mars? Mars.” He knocked lightly on his friend’s office door, opening it a crack and sticking his head around. “Ethan?”</p><p>The other man was hunched over his drawing desk, nose about three inches from the paper and totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. Norman rolled his eyes, smiling lop-sidedly, and closed the door gently behind him, heading downstairs.</p><p>“Hey, earth to Ethan: the house is on fire. I’m dyin’ from withdrawal over here. Your kid’s been kidnapped, again<em>.”</em></p><p><em>Okay, that last one was a low blow, but </em>seriously<em>. Guy’s the biggest space case I’ve ever met</em>.</p><p>He paused by the front door, reaching automatically for the gun he no longer had as he laid his left hand on the handle. It was probably just a neighbour wanting something, or some tourist needing directions, but you couldn’t be too careful. He should start bugging Ethan about getting a spyhole.</p><p>A woman with cropped brown hair and brown eyes was standing on the front step, smiling brightly at him as he stuck his head around the door.</p><p>“Hi! I’m looking for Ethan Mars?” Norman frowned, taking in the woman’s steady gaze and confident tone; her red biker jacket; the motorcycle parked by the curb in front of the house. She seemed weirdly familiar, but he couldn’t place from where.</p><p>“Who’s askin’?”</p><p>“Sorry — Madison, Madison Paige. I’m a friend of Ethan’s.” He took the offered hand, recognising the firm handshake and subtle pushiness of a reporter — and snapped the fingers on his other hand, smiling as he put the pieces together.</p><p>“Right — you’re that reporter from the OK case! We, met, kinda —” He broke off, grimacing. “I mean, I saw you over the top of a patrol car. My ex-partner tried to freakin’ arrest you after you and Ethan saved the kid.”</p><p>“You’re the guy with the nice eyes!” He blinked, frowning.</p><p><em>Nice </em>eyes<em>? That’s a new one.</em></p><p>“Sorry, I never found out your name!” Madison stepped forwards, making to enter the house as though she owned it. Norman stepped reluctantly to the side and shut the door behind her, glancing upstairs and resolving to keep a close eye on the woman until he’d figured out her intentions. Madison was already taking off her coat, chatting away animatedly. “That bastard almost gave me a concussion shoving me into his car, and you chewed him out over it! Really stuck up for me. Most cops don’t have much time for journalists; I really appreciated that.”</p><p>“Just doin’ my job.” He shrugged, leaning against the wall in view of the exits as Madison settled herself on the sofa. “Police brutality ain’t acceptable, ‘specially not when you freakin’ well tipped us off about the warehouse in the first place. That asshole Blake’s been suspended for gross misconduct, so you don’t gotta worry about him anymore.” The woman nodded decisively, smiling.</p><p>“Good. But, yeah — I never got your name, I just remembered how worried you looked when you saw Blake grabbing me. Sorry, bit of a weird thing to lead with.” Norman shrugged, smiling faintly.</p><p>“How d’you know Ethan?” Madison frowned, sharp brown eyes searching his face.</p><p>“You’re not going to tell me your name?”</p><p>“I’ll give you my name if you convince me you ain’t just here for a story.” Norman shifted against the wall, biting back a smile as he realised he was treating this like an interrogation.</p><p>
  <em>Jeez; old habits die hard, huh? She seems trustworthy, but she’s also just turned up outta freakin’ nowhere. Better play it safe, get Mars down here to verify she is who she says she is.</em>
</p><p>Madison’s face lighted with understanding and she shook her head, expression softening where she met his gaze.</p><p>“I’m not; really. Ethan and I started hanging out after the case was closed; mutual experiences I guess, helping each other work through things. We get on well as people anyway, things kind of grew naturally from that.”</p><p>Norman nodded, finding himself inexplicably uncomfortable with the parallels between their respective relationships with the absent man.</p><p>“Right. I, uh, I better go get him then, huh?”</p><p>He padded towards the stairs, glancing at Madison out the corner of his eye as he started heading up. But she remained seated comfortably on the sofa, hands in her lap and glancing interestedly around.</p><p>
  <em>Nah, she ain’t a threat, just straightforward. Mars on the other hand — jeez! The damn house could get robbed when he’s workin’ and he’d never notice. Stupid idiot, freakin’ miracle he’s made it to the age he has...</em>
</p><p>“Mars! <em>Mars</em>! Jesus Christ — <em>Hey</em>!” Norman knocked loudly on the other’s office door, shoving it open; he had to physically grab the other man’s shoulder before Ethan came out of his concentration-stupor, starting and looking up at him with a gasp.</p><p>“Huh — wha? You okay?” He rolled his eyes, huffing a sigh.</p><p>“Fuckin’ peachy. You got a lady friend downstairs who’s been waitin’ on your ass for the last ten minutes. Thought you’d wanna know.”</p><p>“What — oh God, that’s today?! <em>Shit —</em>”</p><p>Norman could’t hold back a smile as the other man flailed around, sweeping papers and pens and drafting instruments off his desk and yanking his jumper from the back of his chair to shrug it on. “Dammit — do I look okay?”</p><p>“Y’look fine.” He frowned, tugging the other’s collar straight and prodding at his hair. “Fix your hair, looks like you woke up in a damn bush.”</p><p>“<em>Completely</em> forgot — dammit, I probably should’ve shaved. D’you think I should’ve shaved?” The other ran a hand across his jaw, grimacing. “I feel like I should’ve shaved; she’s going to tell me I need to shave.” Norman chuckled, shaking his head.</p><p>“Er, I mean if you’re askin’ my personal opinion? I like guys with a bit of scruff; dunno about her though.”</p><p>The other man wasn’t listening, pushing a hand through his hair and hurrying off downstairs. Norman sighed and shook his head, following the other more slowly. He arrived in the lower hallway just in time to see Madison and Ethan embracing; Norman grimaced quietly and hung back, unsure of what to do with himself.</p><p>“Ethan! God, it’s been <em>ages</em> — you need to get better at keeping in touch!” The other man chuckled, shaking his head.</p><p>“It hasn’t been that long, we met for coffee a couple of weeks ago! But yeah, I know.”</p><p>“Honestly.” She shook her head and prodded his shoulder, frowning disapprovingly. “You look a mess! You get so absorbed in your work it’s a wonder you even engage with the real world sometimes.”</p><p>“I know, I know. God, sorry — Madison Paige, meet Norman Jayden. Norman, meet Madison.” Ethan stepped back so they could see one another, spreading his hands and looking anxiously between them. “I <em>always</em> forget to do that, always, then it’s awkward for everyone...”</p><p>“Ah, so <em>this</em> is the Norman Jayden I’ve been hearing so much about!” Madison smiled warmly at him, leaning a hand on her hip and throwing Ethan a cryptic look. “I did wonder, but he wouldn’t tell me his name until he was certain I wasn’t here to chase you for a story.”</p><p>“I, uh...y’know.” Norman shrugged defensively, frowning. “Lots of unscrupulous types about. Sorry, Madison.” She smiled and shook her head.</p><p>“It’s fine! Thank you, for watching out for Mr Space Cadet over here.”</p><p>“Hey!” But Ethan was grinning himself, Madison elbowing him in the ribs where he nudged her shoulder.</p><p>“Eh, it’s fine. He watches my back enough.” Norman forced a lop-sided smile, finally recognising the horrible feeling swimming around inside him as jealousy. “I, uh, I’m gonna go take a shower. Just, uh, yell, if you need me for somethin’.”</p><p>He padded back up the stairs, Madison’s laughter at something Ethan had said piercing his ears like razor blades; he hated himself for hating the sound of it.</p><p><em>Jesus, pull it together Jayden. The guy’s gonna date people, and you’re only here a couple more weeks anyway. Snap outta it and </em>focus<em> goddammit</em>. <em>You’re here to get clean and find a job, then you’re blowin’ this joint. End of.</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Ethan he’s <em>adorable</em>!” Madison hit him in the chest with her fist, glancing quickly around to ensure the other man had gone back upstairs. “In a world-weary, socially awkward kinda way — goddammit, you’re perfect for each other!”</p><p>“Madison —”</p><p>“You should have seen how protective he was of you and Shaun!” She prodded his arm, pulling him over to sit down on the sofa. “I thought he wasn’t going to let me in at first! It was like being interrogated; he was all business, right up until you decided to appear!”</p><p>“I...Is that a bad thing, or...” Madison groaned, slapping a hand across her eyes.</p><p>“Ethan you’re an idiot! God — he <em>cares</em> about you, you moron, how can you not see that?!”</p><p>“I...really think you’re exaggerating...” Ethan grimaced, raising his hands placatingly.</p><p>“I know good chemistry when I see it; you <em>told</em> me you’re into him, that’s —” She broke off as he frantically mimed shushing motions, rolling her eyes and lowering her voice to a whisper. “That’s why I’m here! Have you <em>talked</em> to him yet?” He felt himself slump, shrugging helplessly.</p><p>“Madison...” She crossed her arms, meeting his gaze disapprovingly.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Okay, one? I really don’t think I’m his type. Two, it’s not...well...I just feel like a <em>creep</em>, Madison!”</p><p>“Woah, hang on; back up there.” His friend frowned, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the most disgustingly wholesome guy I know, Ethan. Why do you feel like a creep?”</p><p>“Dh — the age difference, for one thing?!”</p><p>“He’s, what — 26, you said? That’s six years, what’s the big deal? There’s three years between Chrissy and me.”</p><p>“You’re twenty-seven and she’s thirty, you’re practically the same age!” Madison rolled her eyes, prodding his shoulder.</p><p>“And you’re a ridiculously immature 32-year-old pining after a very mature-seeming 26-year-old. I don’t see why it couldn’t work.”</p><p>“I’m not <em>pining</em> after any —”</p><p>“Madison!” They both glanced up in time to see a wind-swept Shaun running into the living-room, the boy dropping his football as he dashed over to hug his friend. Ethan winced quietly at the thought of mud-stains on the pale carpet, but there was no point making a big deal out of it.</p><p>“Hey Shaun!” Madison smiled and hugged the boy tightly back, taking him by the shoulders to look at him. “It’s been a while, huh? I think you’ve got even bigger since I saw you last.”</p><p>“Did you meet Agent Jayden?!” She smiled, nodding.</p><p>“I did, yeah.”</p><p>“He’s so cool.”</p><p>“So I heard!” Madison looked pointedly at Ethan over his son’s head, raising her eyebrows. “Looks like you’ve got some competition in the hero-stakes, Dad.” He only rolled his eyes, shaking his head, before Shaun came bounding over, blinking up at him.</p><p>“Dad, can I play the PlayStation for a bit?”</p><p>“Uh —”</p><p>“Sure! Your Dad and I were just getting coffee. Right, Ethan?” He sighed and got to his feet before Madison could physically drag him into the kitchen, ruffling his son’s hair.</p><p>“Sure thing, bud.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Seriously — just <em>talk</em> to the guy Ethan, it’s that simple! I’d understand if it was your first time dating a man, but you said you —”</p><p>“I haven’t dated <em>anyone</em> apart from Grace for the past ten years! Chalk that up as another reason it would never work.” Ethan sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “I just — he’s been through so much already, even without...<em>that case</em>, the man lost his job a month ago, and he’s fighting a drug addiction by going cold turkey. I’d be taking advantage — heck, I feel like I already am!”</p><p>“By doing what, letting him sleep in your spare room and fixing him dinner every night?” Madison looked pointedly at him, taking a sip of her coffee. “I don’t think it’s you who’s taking advantage here, Ethan.” He frowned deeply, defensiveness rankling in his chest on Norman’s behalf.</p><p>“It’s not like that! I had to beg him to come stay with me when he wouldn’t check himself in somewhere. Even now I keep expecting to come home and he’ll have taken off.” His friend only raised a probing eyebrow, shredding her bagel delicately with her fingers.</p><p>“You’re sure he’s serious about quitting Triptocaine?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em> — Jesus, I’ve had enough experience with that at least. He’s been clean for almost six weeks, and he’s a neater and more considerate house guest than I am. It’s just — God, seriously, it’s just creepy. I feel disgusted with myself just thinking about it.” She rolled her eyes, draining the last of her coffee.</p><p>“You’re not creepy, Ethan. Believe me, I know creepy. You wouldn’t be sitting here having an existential crisis about it if you were. He’s 26 for God’s sake, not 16. Just talk to him about it.”</p><p>He only stared at her, terror constricting his whole body at the thought. Madison looked flatly at him, eating a few shreds of bagel.</p><p>“You already shared a bed, I really don’t think it’s going to come as a shock.”</p><p>“Oh God, don’t —” Ethan grimaced, pressing a hand across his eyes.</p><p>“Did you talk about <em>that</em>?”</p><p>“No! Jesus — he came down the next day and basically <em>apologised</em> for coming out to me. Said he understood if I wanted him to leave because some people might not be okay with ‘people like him’ around their kids!” Ethan mimed air quotes for emphasis, frowning deeply. “It’s 2011, not 1970! What kind of reaction has he had from people, to — and that’s not even the worst part!”</p><p>“Are you mad at him, or for him, I’m finding it difficult to tell here.” He broke off, shaking his head as fresh worry swept through him.</p><p>“He <em>flinches</em>, Madison. Every time I touch him, even just a brush on the shoulder, or if Shaun goes and hugs him without warning. I just...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Whatever he’s been through, he doesn’t need me making things worse.”</p><p>“Ethan you shared a bed together, hell you <em>cuddled</em> — people don’t do that with people they don’t trust, and trust a <em>lot</em>. Are you sure the touching thing isn’t because of withdrawal?” He grimaced, shrugging.</p><p>“I don’t think so. I...I feel like he’d say, if something I was doing was hurting him.”</p><p>Madison cocked her head in thought, drumming her red-lacquered nails against her coffee mug.</p><p>“Maybe he’s just not used to physical contact? You said his job was pretty much his life, and it doesn’t seem the kind of gig that would be heavy on touchy-feely moments.”</p><p>“Yeah. I mean, he always seems fine with it once it’s happening — when I had my arm around him the other day, he leant on me like he didn’t want me to let go.”</p><p>“There you are then.” She nodded decisively, refilling her coffee mug and clasping her hands around it. “Has he mentioned seeing anyone, even just casually?”</p><p>“No. I mean...” Ethan trailed off, frowning. “Sometimes...it’s probably just me reading too much into it, but sometimes he’ll say things, or look at me a certain way, and I almost feel like he’s...” He shook his head, embarrassed even to be mentioning it. “Like he’s flirting with me. It’s probably just —”</p><p>“Oh. Oh no.” Madison put a hand to her forehead, laughing.</p><p>“What? What’s wrong?!” Ethan’s alarmed look only seemed to make her laugh harder.</p><p>“You’re <em>both</em> idiots. I should’ve known!” She shook her head, giving him a fond look. “This guy calls you for help when he’s barely conscious; tells you practically his whole life story after three lousy beers; agrees to sleep in the same <em>bed</em> as you, and ends up <em>cuddling</em> with you the next morning. Just talk to him already, Ethan. I think you’ll get a nice surprise.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Change of Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Norman stepped out the shower with a relieved sigh, towelling off and pulling his jeans on, before retrieving another towel from the bedroom for his hair. It was getting long; he pushed it off his face with a grimace and peered into the bathroom mirror, wondering how difficult it would be just to cut it himself.</p><p>A dull pain had started up behind his eyes; more insistent than the usual withdrawal headaches, it felt closer to the migraines he used to get after spending too long using ARI. Norman frowned and rubbed hard at the bridge of his nose, leaning on the sink and hanging his head for a moment to try and clear his sinuses. The pain wasn’t stopping, if anything it was getting worse; he cursed and squeezed his eyes shut, taking several deep breaths and willing it to go away.</p><p>
  <em>Dammit. What the hell is this, I ain’t used ARI in months —</em>
</p><p>He groaned as pain spiked through his skull, gripping the edges of the sink and fighting to keep himself calm. The pain was rapidly changing from a dull ache to a sharp, stabbing sensation; he groaned and rubbed uselessly at his temple, shaking his head in an attempt to stop the pain.</p><p>Something dripped from his nose, catching his lip and hitting the sink with a spatter; he tasted the blood before he saw it, opened his eyes in horror to see crimson blotches spattering the ceramic.</p><p>“Shit.” Norman put a hand to his nose, swallowing hard, vision beginning to blur as he wiped the stuff on his fingers.</p><p>
  <em>Oh no. No no c’mon, don’t do this, don’t do this please —</em>
</p><p>He spun around unsteadily, gripping the sink, scanned the bathroom through blurry eyes for leaves, for baseballs, for miniature tanks. Everything seemed normal, but there was no way to tell for sure when his eyes wouldn’t focus — he dropped to the floor with a gasp, breathing hard, and squeezed his eyes shut, curling up on the tiles to hug his knees.</p><p><em>Fuck. Think Jayden, keep calm and </em>think<em>. Needa get someone — Ethan — get to a hospital —</em></p><p>He took a gulp of air and forced his eyes open, feeling his hands beginning to tremble.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck no, they’ll just — there’s nothin’ they can do. They’ll just keep me there ‘til I croak, or send me back to Washington — they might make me go back, keep me usin’ til I bite it —</em>
</p><p>It was getting difficult to breathe. Norman pressed his hands across his face and forced himself to take a breath, to take another even as his whole body began to shake uncontrollably. The pain in his head had gotten bad enough to be literally blinding: he had to get someone now before he was in too much pain to move.</p><p>“Shit —”</p><p>Norman gritted his teeth and shifted onto his hands and knees, started to crawl in the direction of the door. The pain increased sharply before he was even halfway and he collapsed with a groan, curling up tight and clutching his head.</p><p>“Fuck...” The pain was so bad it felt like his skull would explode with it; he groaned and pressed his face into the tiles, fighting the urge to hit his head, try to knock himself out, anything to stop the pain devouring his every nerve.</p><p>“Agent Jayden?!” He grimaced at the familiar, high-pitched voice, distorted and far too loud in the enclosed space.</p><p>“S-Shaun.” Blood was clogging his nostrils, running into his mouth; he licked his lips and swallowed it, squinting up at the kid’s blurry shape. “S’okay. M’okay. Get y’r Dad. Hurry.”</p><p>He curled up with a groan as stocking feet ran out into the hallway, Shaun’s yell resounding through the house as the kid ran downstairs. Norman grimaced and pulled his arms up over his head, trying to make himself as small as possible, to retreat from the skull-cracking pain as far as he could. The thought drifted into his mind that he could die, and he hoped fervently that Ethan got there soon, that the other man managed to keep Shaun out of the bathroom whatever happened.</p><p>“Norman?!” He grimaced as the familiar voice rattled in his ears, relief washing through him at the sound of Ethan’s feet on the stairs. His skull was still pounding, but the pain was beginning to recede ever so slightly; he let himself go limp with relief, gasping.</p><p>“Oh my God — <em>shit</em>. Is it your head?!” He flinched and pressed both hands harder against his skull as the words tore into his ears, cringing away into the tiles.</p><p>“Nngh! L-Loud. Please...”</p><p>“Sorry. Sorry, <em>fuck</em>, just hold on —” Warm hands found his shoulders, his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes to palm his cheek. “You’re gonna be okay, just hang on.”</p><p>Norman groaned as the other man pulled him gently up to sitting, Ethan bracing him firmly against his shoulder, warm arms locking around him for support. He moaned and slumped gratefully against his friend, swallowing a wave of nausea as the change in position made the contents of his skull slosh around horribly.</p><p>“Ethan? <em>Shit</em>, what’s —”</p><p>“Madison call an ambulance!”</p><p>“N-No.” His voice was a hoarse whisper; Norman coughed to clear it, groaning as the action sent fresh bolts of pain through his skull. “Fuck. No hospi’als. Pl’se.”</p><p>“Norman we don’t know what’s wrong!” He grimaced, panic shooting through him at the thought of being alone again.</p><p>“S’getting better! P-Please...”</p><p>“I’m sorry, we have to —”</p><p>“Wait — Ethan give me a second here. Norman?”</p><p>He lifted his head with difficulty, squinting at Madison’s blurry form as a slender hand clasped his shoulder. “D’you get migraines, honey?” He frowned, trying to push through the agony pounding in his skull long enough to think.</p><p>“K-Kinda? ARI. Useda be...normal. N’ver this bad.”</p><p>“Okay. Does it hurt here?” He winced as cool fingers settled on his brow, relaxing after a moment when the touch didn’t make the pain worse.</p><p>“Y-Yeah.”</p><p>“Here?” Her fingers moved methodically to his temples, beneath his eyes, the base of his jaw behind his ears, their coolness seeming to dampen the pain for a few moments at each juncture. He found himself saying yes each time the question was asked, Madison seeming to be able to pinpoint the worst of the pain better than he could himself.</p><p>“I think it’s a migraine. Nosebleeds are common if you get them a lot; we need to get him somewhere dark and quiet.”</p><p>“But —”</p><p>“<em>Ethan</em>. Calling an ambulance right now will just make the pain worse; so long as he’s conscious and coherent we can afford to wait a bit. I’m all for the hospital once it’s eased, but taking him in now will make him feel like someone’s cutting his head open with a chainsaw. One hour, okay? We wait one hour, and if anything gets worse we’ll call an ambulance.”</p><p>“...Fine. But if <em>anything</em> gets worse, I’m taking him up myself.”</p><p>Norman shut his eyes with relief and let himself slump back against the other man’s shoulder, exhaustion crashing through him in a wave. Pain was still thrumming through his skull, but it was definitely easing now, weariness overtaking him to sweep everything away into soft blackness.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When he came to it was mercifully dark, the room quiet around him apart from the murmur of voices outside his door.</p><p>“This is ridiculous! You’re not a doctor, and neither am I — we have no <em>idea</em> what those damn glasses did to him!”</p><p>“Which is why I’m saying we should ask him to go and get checked out when he wakes up. I’ve dealt with this exact situation with Chrissy for five years, minus the brain-melting, future-tech thing. You said he hasn’t used whatever-it’s-called in ages, right? So it’s really not likely to be that. Just trust me on this, Ethan. Please?” The other man sighed heavily, but didn’t respond, two pairs of footsteps retreating back down the hall and down the stairs.</p><p>Norman grimaced and rubbed a hand across his eyes, levering himself slowly up to sitting. He felt drained throughout his whole body, but was mercifully lucid, limbs and senses and mind all still seeming to be working as normal. The headache was almost totally gone, a tenderness behind his eyes and a tightness in his jaw the only remnants. Norman sighed relievedly and hung his head for a moment, collecting himself, before switching the bedside light on, scanning the room carefully for hallucinations and feeling weak with relief to find none.</p><p><em>Fuck. </em>Shit<em> that could’ve been really bad. Dammit. I gotta get to a hospital.</em></p><p>He grimaced hard at the thought, fear spiking through him. He hated hospitals anyway, had been pushing his luck with ARI and with Triptocaine long enough that it was easier to avoid any kind of professional examination. Easier to just keep going, and wilfully ignore the damage he was doing to himself.</p><p>
  <em>Guess I got no choice — I don’t wanna end up a vegetable! Christ...</em>
</p><p>He rubbed a hand across his eyes, taking a shaky breath, and swung his legs out of bed, getting gingerly to his feet. His whole body ached with exhaustion, but his legs felt solid enough under him; Norman sighed and padded over to the wardrobe, pulling on a tee-shirt and grey flannel shirt before making his way downstairs.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ethan, Madison, and Shaun were all gathered in the living-room, relief showing clear on their faces when Norman padded downstairs.</p><p>“Agent Jayden!” He gripped the handrail tightly and braced himself, managed to stay more or less upright when the kid barrelled into him. “Are you okay?!”</p><p>“I’m fine, buddy.” He sat down on the bottom step of the stairs, putting himself at Shaun’s eye-level and taking the weight off his legs at same time. “Jus’ tired. Idiotmoronitis, y’know? Sorry for scarin’ ya.”</p><p>“Madison said you had a...a migraine!” He nodded, glancing over at the woman perched on the sofa.</p><p>“That’s right, I did.”</p><p>“She said it gives you a <em>really</em> bad headache, and makes your nose bleed!” Shaun blinked concernedly at him, apparently trying to determine whether either of those things was still a problem. Norman smiled lop-sidedly, warmth blooming in his chest, and ruffled the kid’s hair.</p><p>“Yeah. Only for a little while though; m’alright now. I’m a federal agent, remember? Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” The kid frowned critically at him for a moment, then smiled, apparently happy with that answer.</p><p><em>Wonder how long I can keep this up for before I gotta tell him I quit. Jeez</em>. <em>Kid’s gonna be heartbroken</em>.</p><p>Norman grimaced internally at the thought, glancing up as a shadow fell across them.</p><p>“Shaun, d’you want to get Agent Jayden a glass of water?” Ethan smiled, laying an affectionate hand on his son’s head as the other padded off towards the kitchen, before looking back at Norman, smile dissolving into a worried frown. “How’re you feeling?” He shrugged, trying for a lop-sided smile.</p><p>“Like I got run over by a truck. Head’s not killin’ me anymore though, so that’s a plus.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, feeling vaguely sick from the aching in his muscles. A familiar fear was trickling in to settle along his bones, and he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “Y’gonna throw me out?”</p><p>“What?! No!” Ethan looked stricken when he glanced up again, the other man stepping closer to drop into a crouch in front of him. “Why the hell would I do that?” Norman shrugged weakly, not able to meet the other’s eye.</p><p>“I scared the crap out your kid.”</p><p>“You were <em>sick</em> — it’s not your fault you —” The other man broke off with a huff, shaking his head, and gripped Norman’s arm, pulling him gently but firmly to his feet. “C’mon, stand up.”</p><p>“What’re you — hey!” Norman tried to shrug out of the hold, but he was too weak to shift Ethan’s hands; he found himself propelled towards the sofa and pushed down firmly onto the cushions.</p><p>“Stay there.”</p><p>He blinked perplexedly as the other man disappeared into the kitchen, frowning in askance at Madison.</p><p>“What the hell?” She smiled and shifted closer on the sofa, shaking her head.</p><p>“Speaking as an impartial observer, I think he’s frustrated that you’re...y’know. Not accepting his help.” He only huffed a breath and shook his head, frowning at his feet.</p><p>“I’m fine. Stupid idiot worries too much.”</p><p>There was a silence. Madison cleared her throat quietly, shifting beside him on the sofa.</p><p>“Y’know, I...I gettit. It’s tough, when you’ve never had anyone to...well, rely on, and then you meet someone who’s whole life they’ve been used to helping and being helped by people...it can be difficult to understand each other. My girlfriend and I struggled with that for a long time.” He frowned, glancing over at her.</p><p>“Wait — girlfriend?” She smiled and nodded, a softness coming into her face.</p><p>“We’ve been together almost five years; getting married next spring.” Norman blinked, a weight he hadn’t realised was there lifting from his chest as he processed that. Madison cocked her head, eyes widening in understanding when she met his gaze. “Wait, you didn’t think me and Ethan —” He nodded, and she broke into peals of laughter, pressing a hand across her mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you I swear. <em>God</em> no — even if I was into guys, the man’s so scatter-brained he’d drive me crazy!”</p><p>“Guess I just assumed.” He shrugged, smiling lop-sidedly despite himself at her understanding look. “I, uh — m’sorry, I-I never said thanks. For helpin’ me, with, er...” He trailed off, gesturing to his head, and looked away again, awkwardness and fear constricting his guts to think of how vulnerable he’d been in front of someone he barely knew.</p><p>“It’s fine!” Norman started as a cool hand clasped his own, glanced up to find Madison frowning earnestly at him. “God, I know how horrible it can be — Chrissy gets awful migraines, has done for as long as I’ve known her.” She shook her head, smiling, and squeezed his shoulder companionably. “I’m just glad I was here to stop Ethan dragging you off to emergency!” He smiled himself, the tension beginning to drain from his muscles at the woman’s consistent friendliness.</p><p>“You an’ me both.”</p><p>The two of them glanced up as Ethan re-entered the living-room, Shaun in tow and a tray of coffee and biscuits in his hands. Norman raised an eyebrow, glancing between the other adults as Ethan set the tray down on the coffee table and dropped into the chair opposite, Shaun perching on the sofa at Norman’s other side. “...Er, this supposed to be an intervention? ‘Cause this feels like an intervention.”</p><p>Madison chuckled and Ethan smiled lop-sidedly and shook his head, leaning forward to pass the mugs around before sitting back with his own.</p><p>“Not exactly. Just...” The other paused, glancing at Madison for support. “We’d all feel a lot happier if you went and got yourself checked out.”</p><p>“Yeah, I — I figured.” Norman swallowed hard, setting his own mug on the coffee table, before glancing up with a tight smile. “I, uh, don’t even know how my insurance is doin’, y’know? Bureau paid for all that shit for about as long as I’ve really needed it.”</p><p>“We can help you pay for it.” He snorted disbelievingly and shook his head.</p><p>“Like hell you will, Mars!” Ethan frowned determinedly, shaking his head himself, Madison mirroring him where she cupped her hands around her coffee mug.</p><p>“The two of us make more than enough between us; if it means that much to you, you can pay us back whenever you have the money. I’m not going to let you go without medical treatment because of pride, Norman.”</p><p>He grimaced and wiped a hand across his eyes, battling a sudden, screaming urge to run from the room.</p><p>“Look, I feel fine! Can we not just leave it a couple days, see how things go?<br/>
Fu —” He broke off with a wince, mindful of Shaun at his side. “Freakin’ hate hospitals.”</p><p>“No-one <em>likes</em> them, but it’s important that you get checked out, hon.” Madison leaned forward to catch his gaze, her lips pursed sympathetically. “Something could be really wrong —”</p><p>“That’s what I’m afraid of!”</p><p>Norman froze at his own shouted words, squeezing his eyes shut with a grimace as his nervous system braced for a bellowed rejoinder, a muttered threat, a blow across the face. Getting into yelling matches at work — with suspects, convicts, superiors, Blake — didn’t rattle him at all; that was just the job, and he was a different person there. Raising his voice off-duty, in someone’s comfortable living-room, felt far too much like being back at home: trapped in a room with his belligerent father and trying desperately to diffuse the argument before the other man blew his top.</p><p>“Why’re you scared?” He blinked his eyes open at the small voice, found Shaun looking questioningly up at him. “I thought FBI agents weren’t scared of anything.” Norman smiled weakly despite himself and shook his head, feeling a glow of warmth in his chest to see the kid wasn’t the least bit alarmed by strident discussions or raised voices.</p><p>“I guess I’m not a very good one.” The boy seemed to consider that, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows, before shaking his head dismissively and shrugging.</p><p>“I don’t like hospitals either. We had to go to one, after...” Shaun trailed off, glancing at his father for reassurance, before looking back at Norman, something like resolve in his brown eyes. “I had to have loads of injections, it was really scary! But Dad told me it’s okay to be scared — he said <em>everyone</em> gets scared sometimes, even him! And it’s important to tell someone you trust, so they can help you feel less scared!”</p><p>Norman chuckled softly, blinking hard and swallowing against a sudden wave of tears.</p><p>“He did, huh?” He glanced over at Ethan, found the other man smiling lop-sidedly, his blue eyes gentle.</p><p>“Yeah. When Shaun went missing and I didn’t know where he was, I was really scared. I told Madison, and you Norman, and both of you helped me.” Madison nodded herself, smiling sympathetically.</p><p>“Same for me. I used to get really bad nightmares; I’d be too scared to go to bed in case I had one. I told Chrissy, my girlfriend, and she helped me feel a lot better.”</p><p>Norman nodded and pushed a hand through his hair, awkwardness and fear still squirming in his gut at the idea of leaning on anyone. He’d been alone for so long, he’d wondered more than once if his capacity to trust other people wasn’t permanently broken.</p><p>He started as small arms wrapped around his bicep, Shaun clinging on like a limpet. Norman smiled lop-sidedly and ruffled the kid’s hair, slinging his arm around Shaun’s shoulders as the other scooted up beside him. The kid was like a cat: picked up immediately when something was wrong, and tried to remedy it with hugs. He pursed his lips, looking down at his feet and feeling Shaun’s thin shoulders beneath his arm.</p><p>“I just gotta go in an’ get tested, right? See what turns up?” Norman swallowed hard, steeling himself, before looking up and nodding. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Goddammit Norman, you WILL learn to take proper care of yourself for the sake of the small child who has developed an intense attachment to you!<br/> </p><p>Also I was editing this chapter to post it, and after some fact-checking realised that same-sex marriage only became legal in Pennsylvania in 2014, so Madison's remark is at least three years premature lol. I couldn't find a better ending clause for that sentence though, so will have to claim artistic liscence (also Madison deserves a happy relationship too goddammit - just let me have my domestic lesbians!!)</p><p> </p><p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Hospital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was raining by the time they pulled into the hospital car park, the sky dark and heavy in the distance warning of an approaching storm. Anxiety was fizzing through Norman like static before he’d even gotten out of the car. He followed the others reluctantly into the ER, letting Madison take the lead in explaining the situation to the nurse; he realised distantly that he was disassociating too hard to register most of what was being said.</p><p>He leaned against the south wall of the waiting room as the rest of the group got themselves settled in chairs alongside, overwhelmed by the urge to run, to curl up into a ball on the floor and stay absolutely still until everyone and everything left him the hell alone. It was getting difficult to breathe; Norman shuffled his feet and shoved his trembling hands into his coat pockets, remembered with a jolt of giddy desperation that he had a vial of Tripto stashed in the lining near the bottom. One hit wouldn’t hurt, right? Just a little, to take the edge off? He felt so damn awful already he wouldn’t be able to stand getting examined otherwise, and it wasn’t like the stuff would damage his brain much more than it was already. Just a fifth of a tube, enough to calm his nerves; the others would never know.</p><p>Norman swallowed hard and flashed Ethan a tight smile, tilting his head in the direction of the corridor signposted as leading to the men’s bathroom.</p><p>“Be right back.”</p><p>He released a shaky breath as he hurried off down the corridor, finding some vague solace in becoming once again anonymous amongst the people milling around the hospital. Being alone wasn’t pleasant, but it was predictable; there was security in it. Nobody could hurt you, let you down or leave suddenly, if they didn’t even acknowledge you in the first place.</p><p>He sighed heavily and shouldered his way into the bathroom, lingering by the sinks for a moment and pretending to wash his hands while he waited for the couple of guys already present to leave. Another patron came in right after the others had left and he gritted his teeth, suppressing a groan. Public bathrooms were never, ever free when you needed them to be; hell, the more urgent the need for privacy, the more damn people seemed to be hanging around. Norman took a shaky breath and gripped the edges of the sink, reminding himself of the little blue vial tucked into his coat. He wouldn’t take a lot, not even half a vial; just enough to calm down, to stop the anxiety running rampant through his every nerve. Hell he could probably get away with saying he hadn’t broken his clean streak, if he wasn’t even taking enough to produce any kind of high.</p><p>The other guy finally left, and Norman hurried into a cubicle, sitting down on the closed toilet-seat lid and fumbling in his jacket for the Tripto. The vial was there, tucked snugly in between the lining and the hem of his coat; he chuckled giddily with relief and pulled it out, a wave of calmness washing through him just to feel the familiar glass vial in his hand again. Triptocaine was mildly fluorescent under halogen light, the blue glow enhanced by the white tile walls; when you took the time to really look at the stuff, it was beautiful. He could’ve sworn the tube felt warm in his hand.</p><p>Norman swallowed hard and gripped the cap, before hesitating. Once he’d opened the thing, there’d be no going back, and half a vial in, he wouldn’t want to. A one-way ticket, straight back down the rabbit hole...but then, starting using again would probably be the hardest part. No job, no other responsibilities, no future prospects to speak of; there’d be no reason for him to even try to quit this time. A couple of vials in, all he’d care about — all he’d <em>have</em> to care about — would be Tripto.</p><p>He paused, before deliberately releasing his grip on the cap, passing the vial from hand to hand and taking several steadying breaths. He’d been clean for so long, had really started to feel like he was getting a handle on the stuff, on himself, on the overwhelming feelings that drove him to take it. Norman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyeing the vial with a tight swallow. It felt like a battle of wills: his underdeveloped coping mechanisms and shaky pride in staying clean versus the siren call of fuzzy, ecstatic oblivion, and he could feel his resolve weakening with every second he sat here. But the anxiety was still there, fizzing painfully around the edges of his consciousness; he couldn’t bear to put the vial down, if going back outside into that jittery terror cold was the only other option —</p><p>“Norman?” He started at the quiet voice, hissing a curse.</p><p>“What the fuck, Mars?!” His voice sounded wavering and brittle even to his own ears; he grimaced and cleared his throat, feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly drained.</p><p>“Are you okay?” He huffed a breath and looked at the vial in his hand, fighting with himself. It would be so easy just to take it, to snort the whole damn thing and just <em>give up</em> on everything else — but something held him back, a small but ironclad voice inside him adamantly refusing to let him uncap the vial. “Norman.” He pressed a hand across his eyes, grimacing as tears dripped down his cheeks no matter what he did to stop them.</p><p>“Go ‘way. Please.” There was a pause, then a rustling sound, the stall door creaking as though someone had leant back against it. Ethan sighed quietly.</p><p>“You don’t have to do this; the exam I mean. Y’know? If it’s really that hard, I — I understand —”</p><p>“Jus’ — go away. Please, Mars.” He grimaced hard, hating himself for pushing the other man away — but the sudden, roaring pain in his chest cut off the capacity to do anything else, the Tripto warm and soothing in his hand, and he couldn’t fucking <em>take any</em> when the other man was standing right there — “Fucking <em>go</em>, please!”</p><p>
  <em>I don’t want you to see this. Don’t want you draggin’ my junkie ass out the fire again, don’t want your pity —</em>
</p><p>“Fuckin’ go back to your family, your nice white-picket-fence life I could never fuckin’ have, and leave me alone!” He realised with a jolt that he’d said that out loud, let his head drop back against the wall with a grimace.</p><p><em>Fuck. Nice goin’, Jayden. Real, </em>real<em> nice goin’, you useless fuckin’ asshole.</em></p><p>He wet his lips at the sound of movement beyond the door, braced himself shakily for the other man leaving. This was what always happened<em>,</em> sooner or later — he’d fuck up somehow, get too angry or too distant or make too much of a mess of something, and the other person would leave. That’s just how it was.</p><p>
  <em>Guess I’m just not meant to be around people. Good thing I have you.</em>
</p><p>He dropped his gaze to the vial in his hand, gripped the cap and started twisting. There was a rustle, some scraping sounds, then a soft thud; he frowned, glancing up to see a familiar figure apparently sitting back against the door of his stall. Norman blinked, raising an eyebrow, concern uncurling in his gut.</p><p>“...Uh, Mars? Y’okay?”</p><p>“Yeah.” A pause; the other’s voice sounded tight when he next spoke. “...I’m not leaving. I won’t, say anything, or...but I’m not leaving. I can’t.” Norman sighed, shaking his head tiredly.</p><p>“I ain’t gonna OD, Mars, not here. You don’t gotta worry about it.” Another pause; Ethan’s voice sounded shaken, but filled with compassion when he next spoke.</p><p>“...That’s...<em>Jesus</em>, that’s not what I mean. I just...” The other man trailed off, sighing quietly<em>.</em> “I’m not...not leaving you like this.”</p><p>Norman paused, blinking perplexedly.</p><p>
  <em>Like what? I ain’t gonna OD; what’s the big deal?</em>
</p><p>He sighed and frowned down at the Triptocaine, passing the vial agitatedly between his hands again. With the emotional storm beginning to ebb after his outburst, the stuff suddenly seemed far less attractive. Norman took a deep breath and levelled his gaze at the door, swallowing hard. He had two options: snort the vial and just forget about everything, or break the loop and try something different for once. That second option was absolutely terrifying, and there was no guarantee it wouldn’t all go to pieces anyway...but something was gently but firmly pushing him to take it. To reach forward a bit at a time, fighting with himself and a bone-deep, humming terror all the way, and open the latch on the door.</p><p>Ethan started as the latch grated open, scrambling to his feet. The other man’s expression was filled with nothing but worry and overwhelming compassion when he met Norman’s gaze; he smiled lop-sidedly himself and shrugged, wiping a hand across his wet eyes. The tube of Tripto was still in his other hand and he rolled it self-consciously in his palm, glancing up hesitantly at his friend.</p><p>“I…D-Didn’t take any.”</p><p>Ethan only shook his head, frowning sympathetically, and stepped forwards, arms open in offer of a hug. Norman accepted it hesitantly, found himself pulled to his feet and into the warmest, tightest hug he could ever remember receiving. He froze for a couple of seconds, before relaxing into it, Ethan a warm, solid support around him when his knees threatened to buckle. Norman squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the other man’s shoulder, hugging him back as tightly as he could and trying to impart all his gratitude through the embrace. Ethan was rubbing soothingly at his back, his hand moving up to squeeze the back of Norman’s neck reassuringly, before starting to smooth his hair. He felt himself shudder, tears squeezing from his eyes despite himself as he clenched his fingers in his friend’s coat, suddenly terrified the other was going to let go. Once the tears had started there was no stopping them, and he gave in to sobbing, giving up the fight and letting himself go limp in the other man’s arms.</p><p>“Shh, s’okay. I’ve got you.” He stiffened automatically at the murmured words, muscles relaxing slowly again once he’d processed what they meant. Embarrassment was starting to bleed into the relief he was feeling, urging him to pull away, compose himself and apologise before Ethan pushed him back without warning and yelled at him to get himself together. Norman tensed at the thought, breath shortening in his chest, but his friend was still smoothing his hair, holding him securely to him and murmuring reassurance. He released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and made himself relax into the embrace, shutting his eyes as he buried his face in the other’s shoulder again and feeling like he was getting away with murder.</p><p>
  <em>He wouldn’t be holding you like this if he knew what a fuck-up you really are. Hell, if he knew how you feel about him he’d probably beat your ass black and blue.</em>
</p><p>He whimpered involuntarily at the thought, cringing closer to the other man — before a flood of visceral panic had him ripping out of Ethan’s hold, whole body responding beyond his control to the expectation of being hit. His friend caught his shoulders as he did so, holding him gently, supportively in place.</p><p>“Woah, woah, easy! What’s wrong?” He looked into the other’s worried blue eyes and squeezed his own shut, breathing choppy and feeling about half a second away from breaking down completely as a storm of emotions battered through him. “Easy, <em>breathe</em> Norman. Did I hurt you?” He actually choked out a laugh, opening his eyes and shaking his head emphatically.</p><p>“N-No. No, just...” He trailed off, shaking his head as a wave of weariness swept through him. There was so much damn pain, so many damaged pieces battering around inside of him trying to rip him apart that it felt impossible to try and untangle it all, let alone explain it to anyone else. “‘Nother long story. S-Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Ethan frowned sympathetically and shook his head, warm hands still clasping his shoulders. “You don’t have to apologise.” Norman wet his lips, awkwardness sweeping through him, but shuffled forwards regardless, slipping his arms somewhat hesitantly around his friend again. Ethan returned the hug gently, arms warm and secure around him. He gave a sigh of relief that felt like it came straight from his soul and let himself relax in the other’s hold, resting his head on Ethan’s shoulder and shutting his eyes. There was silence for a time, bar the dripping of a pipe somewhere.</p><p>“...Guess you weren’t expectin’ this when you came in here, huh?” The words sounded wet and brittle in his own ears; Norman pulled away with a tight swallow, patting his friend’s shoulder and smiling lop-sidedly in an attempt to re-establish his dignity. Ethan only returned the smile weakly, shaking his head.</p><p>“Honestly, I thought you were having a panic attack at first.” Norman blinked, surprised by the other’s perceptiveness, even now.</p><p>“Uh...that’s...” The other man only shrugged, glancing away himself and rubbing at the back of his neck.</p><p>“I get them enough myself, I just, uh...thought you looked a bit shaky. I was gonna give you your privacy, then when you didn’t come back we started to worry.”</p><p>“I, uh...I mean I kinda was, to begin with. Remembered I stashed some, er —” He broke off, curling his hand around the tube of Tripto and swallowing hard. “I-In my jacket. I...” He trailed off with a sigh, shaking his head, and turned away, shame piercing through him sharply enough to make his breath catch. The toilet was directly behind him; he grimaced and stepped back into the stall, a surge of hatred going through him for the vial in his hand. He uncurled his fingers, hesitating for a couple of seconds, before dropping the Tripto into the toilet, hitting flush before he could change his mind.</p><p>A shiver of anxiety washed through him as he stepped out of the stall, making his breath shorten and his hands clench. Being suddenly without the vial felt horribly exposing; there was nothing now to buffer against the bad feelings when they flared up, nothing to stop the panic if it got really bad again in public...He glanced up at his friend’s quiet cough, Ethan smiling lop-sidedly at him. He thought he could see a hint of pride in the other man’s eyes, mixed with concern.</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. Guess we should head out, huh? Probably missed my appointment by now.”</p><p>“I don’t think Madison will let that happen.” They both chuckled, a glow of warmth filling the chilly bathroom between them. “Seriously — you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Norman.”</p><p>“Nah, I...I need to.” He swallowed tightly, dropping the other a grateful smile as Ethan clasped his shoulder.</p><p>“Okay. Well, if it helps, we’ll be right outside.”</p><p>“Thanks, Mars.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The examination seemed to take forever, an endless stream of forms and scans and tests and plastic nodes attached to his skin to measure various things on bleeping monitors. Norman perched anxiously on the side of the hospital bed, drumming his fingers on his knees and tapping his feet against the lino and fighting to keep his breathing even. This was the part he’d been dreading: the poking and prodding of the tests had been a cakewalk in comparison.</p><p>The door opened with a clack and Doctor Anderson re-appeared, opening a thick file as she sat down in her chair.</p><p>“Right then, here we are. Do you have any family, Mr Jayden, anyone you’d like to be here with you while we go over the results?”</p><p>It was probably — hopefully — just a standard question, but it set his every nerve alight with fear. Norman swallowed hard, clasping his hands and taking a steadying breath. Whatever the results were, he’d come too far not to hear them now, even if all he wanted to do in that moment was run from the room. He squared his shoulders and braced himself, frowning.</p><p>“I uh...” He thought with a pang of the three people outside in the waiting room, suddenly torn. He was used to dealing with bad news by himself: it wasn’t pleasant, but there was security in it since everything was in his control that way. He knew how to cope by himself, could trust himself to manage however hard things got; having other people in the equation was new, and added an element of uncertainty, another layer of fear to things. There was no saying the others wouldn’t freak out, make it all about them and force him to comfort and support them as well as himself. But he remembered Ethan’s reassuring smile in the bathroom earlier, the other man’s warm hand on his shoulder and strong arms wrapped around him.</p><p>
  <em>If it helps, we’ll be right outside.</em>
</p><p>“I uh, yeah. Yeah, I...I got people.” He smiled crookedly despite himself, warmth mixing with the anxiety in his chest to be able to say that.</p><p>“Great. I’ll go fetch them.”</p><p>“Wait —” Norman scrambled to his feet, hesitating for a second, before rushing out the door after the woman, panic flooding him that he was burdening the others, that they’d get mad or leave and he’d be left to shamefacedly explain the situation to the doctor. He paused where the end of the corridor gave out into the waiting room, stepping back against the wall to peer around the corner and hoping he wouldn’t be seen. He couldn’t exactly explain why he’d followed the doc all the way out here, but it felt too late to turn around now.</p><p>“Family of Mr Norman Jayden?”</p><p>“Here.” Ethan got to his feet, hope mixing with worry on his face.</p><p>“That’s us! C’mon Shaun.” Madison smiled lop-sidedly, getting up herself.</p><p>“Is Agent Jayden okay?” Shaun’s expression was a mixture of curiosity and concern, his Nintendo DS clutched in one hand and Madison holding the other.</p><p>“I don’t know, honey. That’s what we’re going to find out.” A smile broke across the kid’s face when he spotted Norman, and the ex-agent pressed a finger to his lips, had a second to glimpse Shaun’s delighted grin before ducking back around the corner and along the corridor, managing to make it back into the examination room and compose himself before the others arrived.</p><p>The door clacked open, then his friends were crowding into the tiny space, Shaun and Madison perching on the bed beside him and Ethan standing behind them, resting a hand on Norman’s shoulder. He smiled lop-sidedly as fresh warmth swept through him, feeling genuinely and incredibly <em>supported</em> for the first time since he could remember.</p><p>“Right then.” Doctor Anderson sat back down, leafing through the papers before looking up with a smile. “I’m happy to say the prognosis is good. Our tests show the usual physical and neurological effects associated with chronic Triptocaine use, however at present, nothing we’re seeing is irreversible. You’re young, and otherwise in good health; provided you’re successful in your rehabilitation and stop using the substance within the next few months, you’re not likely to experience any long-term negative health effects. Regarding the other element...” She trailed off, adjusting her glasses to peer at one of the documents. “I’m afraid we weren’t able to glean much from your former employer about the neurological impact of the technology you were using. What I can tell you is that your brain scans and neurological tests came back absolutely normal; it’s likely the symptoms you’ve been experiencing are a form of Triptocaine withdrawal exacerbated by your past usage of the, er, what was it — the ARI. You indicated that you experienced migraines regularly after using this technology, correct?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Norman nodded, swallowing hard.</p><p>“And you had no prior history of migraines before starting to use the technology?”</p><p>“No ma’am.” Doctor Anderson nodded, frowning, and glanced down at her notes, apparently thinking.</p><p>“Based on information from your former employer and yourself regarding its physical effects after heavy usage, it seems likely that the combined optical and cognitive strain caused by the technology triggered a latent predisposition to migraines. That being the case, it would be entirely normal for you to experience them during withdrawal owing to the wider effects of Triptocaine dependence upon the body.” She looked up with a smile, pushing her glasses up her nose. “As I said, your scans show no signs of brain damage, and your neurological and psychological functioning scores actually came back higher than average. The only explanation I can find for your symptoms in light of that is migraine.”</p><p>Norman nodded, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and putting his face in his hands for a moment, feeling weak with relief. He’d been so sure the results would be dire; receiving not just a neutral prognosis but a positive one made him feel strangely like he was getting away with something. He smiled crookedly at the thought and shook his head, glancing up at his friends.</p><p>Madison had slipped an arm through his own while the doctor was talking, squeezed his elbow with an encouraging smile at the verdict. He realised that Ethan had kept a hand lightly on his shoulder the whole time, the other man squeezing gently and dropping him a smile when he looked round. Norman smiled lop-sidedly himself, gratitude welling painfully in his chest at the others’ kindness. A small part of his brain noted how weird this must look: two guys, a girl, and a kid, presenting as a family when only Ethan and Shaun were obviously blood-related in terms of appearance. Then again, he’d met a guy at Quantico who’d trained as a medic, and had related numerous, blood-curdling stories about people shoving assorted household objects where the sun don’t shine, then lying about how they got there. His own situation probably ranked about a 2 on the 10-point scale of ER medical-weirdness.</p><p>“Thanks, doc. I, er...” He gave a tight chuckle, feeling about ten pounds lighter as the prognosis sunk in. “Kinda expecting the worst, y’know?” Doctor Anderson nodded understandingly, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.</p><p>“Thunderclap headaches and nosebleeds would alarm anybody. Rest assured Mr Jayden, you’re perfectly healthy. Just make sure to keep going with your rehabilitation, and maybe cut back on your alcohol consumption, and you’ll be absolutely fine.”</p><p>“Right.” He coughed, embarrassed by the implied reprimand, felt Madison chuckle quietly beside him.</p><p>“Thank you, doctor. We’ll make sure he takes care of himself.” Norman smiled at that, glancing back at his friend as he got to his feet.</p><p>“Sure, Mars. I’ll remind you about that next time you leave a pan on the stove and almost freakin’ burn the house down.” The other only sighed, rolling his eyes with a smile.</p><p>“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” He grinned, shaking his head.</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“Are we done now?” Shaun blinked up at him, closing his DS to hop down from the bed as Madison opened the door. “Did they give you lots of injections?”</p><p>“Nah, just made me fill out some tests, and did some scans of my brain to make sure everything’s workin’ okay.” Shaun nodded, looking up at him as the group headed back out into the corridor.</p><p>“You’re okay, right?”</p><p>“Sure I am, bud. Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle, remember?” Norman smiled lop-sidedly and ruffled the kid’s hair, reflected with some discomfort that the latter sentence could well be his life motto, even on occasions when it couldn’t have been further from the truth. “I’m doin’ fine.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"If I just save you, you could save, you could save me too..." I had You Me at Six's "No-One Does It Better" stuck in my head the whole time I was writing this chapter lol. I feel like quite a lot of it fits for this pair. :)</p><p> </p><p>I'm sorry to say that future updates will be a bit sporadic for a while: I have exams coming up for uni this month, and my health hasn't been brilliant recently, which has put a bit of a kink in the writing (and not the good kind lol). On the plus side, I now have all the chapters up to the end outlined fully, and about 3/4 of the total number written up and waiting to be edited (editing is like writing, only hateful and in reverse, to quote Robert Brockway, and it always takes me the longest time to do out of the whole process). I really hope you guys can be patient with me until I can get back to a regular schedule again.</p><p> </p><p>Thanks so much for reading! Please drop some kudos and a comment if you can spare the time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Taxi Service</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Warning for this chapter:</b> attempted school shooting (non-graphic)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Norman set his friend’s laptop aside with a sigh, rubbing at his stinging eyes. He’d hit a wall with job-hunting; all the vacant roles he was qualified for were either minimum-wage desk jobs quasi-adjacent to forensics, beat cop positions equivalent to the level of rookie, or teaching posts requiring experience he didn’t have. Setting himself up as a PI was always an option, but it felt way too much like profiling; he could see himself already, poring over case files for days at a time, surviving on Triptocaine and obsessiveness and generally behaving exactly like he used to with ARI, minus the glasses and glove. At least working for the bureau had forced semi-regular social interaction.</p><p>Norman groaned and rubbed both hands down his face, flopping back onto the mattress. He’d been crashing at Ethan’s for almost two months, had to find something soon before he exhausted his welcome as well as his severance package.</p><p>“Agent Jayden?” He started at the whispered voice, scrambling up to sitting. Shaun was standing in the doorway, coat and backpack on and blinking worriedly at him.</p><p>“Hey, bud.” He frowned, setting his feet on the floor as his brain automatically began to parse explanations for the kid’s presence. “Everythin’ okay? Why aren’t you in school?” The boy only shook his head frantically, glancing over his shoulder as he padded further into the room.</p><p>“I missed the bus! Dad can’t know.” The other stared up at him beseechingly, brown eyes wide. “Can you take me?”</p><p>“I...uh...” Norman trailed off into a sigh, heart melting despite himself at the other’s kicked-puppy look. “Sure, kid. But you ain’t to make a habit of this, alright? School’s important.”</p><p>“I know — I’m sorry! I just wanted to speak to Mrs Dawson about her dog, then Sandy wanted me to play with her and I wasn’t paying attention and I missed the bus and I can’t be late for school or Mrs Higgins will write a note and — and —” Shaun trailed off, breathing quickly and hiccupping against tears. Norman grimaced and hopped off the mattress, dropping into a crouch in front of the kid.</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay. Yeah? I’ll get you to school. And if Ms Higgins or <em>anyone</em> gives you any crap, you come tell me and I’ll go give ‘em what for. Okay?” The kid nodded, blinking tearfully at him; Norman suppressed a wince and wiped the boy’s face with the cuff of his flannel shirt, clasping Shaun’s shoulder with his free hand. “Listen, you got distracted, and you missed your bus; it’s easy to do, I’ve done it loads of times. No harm done, though, so you don’t gotta apologise.” He smiled lop-sidedly, squeezing the kid’s shoulder. “You wanna go downstairs and wait by the door, and I’ll be down in a minute to take you along. Okay?”</p><p>“‘Kay. Thank you, Agent Jayden.” He shook his head with a smile and ruffled the boy’s hair, supressing a sigh as he pushed himself up to standing.</p><p>
  <em>Just call me Norman, kid. Really startin’ to feel like a fraud here.</em>
</p><p><em>“</em>S’okay; it’s my job, right?” Shaun only smiled and threw his arms around Norman’s waist in a quick hug, before padding off out the door.</p><p>
  <em>I mean, it technically still is. I’m an adult, and adults need to look out for kids, FBI or not.</em>
</p><p>Norman sighed and headed out the door himself, a plan already forming in his mind as he ran a hand through his hair to tidy it. The cuff of his flannel was damp with tears, and what was very possibly snot; he grimaced and folded the material in on itself, making a mental note to wash it at some point. Other than that, he looked presentable enough; could probably pass as the kid’s pot-smoking older brother.</p><p>“Hey, Ethan?” The other man had been holed up in his office since the early morning, immersed in his latest project. Norman knocked lightly on the door, before sticking his head around, stepping quietly into the room. “I, uh, m’going out for a bit. Need to run some errands.”</p><p>“That’s fine.” The other man’s eyes didn’t move from the paper, tracking the line he was making with fervent concentration. Norman smiled lop-sidedly and raised an eyebrow, his gaze fastening on Ethan’s car keys where they lay on his desk.</p><p>“Also, er, I think Obama’s declared war on Finland. Looks like kinda a big deal.”</p><p>“That’s good.” He bit back a chuckle, leaning back casually against the other’s desk and laying a hand over the keys, pretending to examine something in his other hand as a distraction.</p><p>“Did I tell you I’m considering a sex change?”</p><p>“That’s nice.”</p><p><em>Oh my </em>God<em> Mars</em>.</p><p>He swallowed a bark of laughter into a cough, using the motion to cover the movement of his other hand as he snagged the keys.</p><p>“Yeah, so uh, I’ll see you later! Don’t work too hard, now.”</p><p>
  <em>Note to self: bring Mars something to eat when you get back so he doesn’t freakin’ starve to death from working too hard. Sheesh.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ethan’s car was a worn-in Oldsmobile 88, which somehow suited its owner down to the ground. Norman hadn’t really registered the vehicle as a passenger, too caught up in conversation or his own thoughts most of the time to notice, but slipping into the driver’s seat when he hadn’t even gained permission to borrow the thing was a different experience entirely.</p><p><em>So this is technically </em>very<em> illegal, but it’s not like there’s time to walk the kid to school, either. Not like it’s the first time I’ve bent the rules, but still. Gotta be careful here.</em></p><p>Shaun was already settled in the passenger side, seatbelt on and looking expectantly at him. Norman pulled his own belt on, before starting the ignition, grimacing and glancing up at the window of Ethan’s office as the engine growled to life. But there was no movement behind the glass; he breathed a sigh of relief and eased out of the driveway, pointing the car in the direction Shaun indicated and driving off before any busy-body neighbours could clock him essentially joyriding.</p><p>Ethan’s car handled like a wet sponge on wheels. He grimaced and wrenched the steering wheel around, pumping the gas experimentally and frowning when the action seemed to have little to no impact on how quickly the car moved.</p><p><em>Jeez. Now why am I not surprised to learn that Mars is the complete opposite of a car guy? Fuckin’ Mad Jack; I </em>really<em> miss that Impala.</em></p><p>Fortunately traffic was slow this late on in the morning, allowing him to compensate for the car’s stodgy handling. Shaun was scribbling something on his lap in the passenger seat; Norman smiled when he recognised a more than passable image of a golden retriever. Kid had definitely inherited his Dad’s art skills.</p><p>He pulled to a stop at a red light and switched the radio on, something upbeat and rocky and distinctly English filtering through the speakers. He smiled and drummed his fingers on the steering-wheel in time to the rhythm, turning up the volume. The song was familiar, conjuring up hazy memories of his high school days; he found himself singing along to the chorus, grinning to find he could still remember most of the words. Shaun joined in after a moment, making up most of the words and grinning over at him, and Norman chuckled, realised he was feeling genuinely content, genuinely <em>happy</em> for the first time in years. He smiled and floored the gas as the lights changed, fingers still tapping on the wheel.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They pulled up in front of the school just as the majority of the kids were starting to head inside. Shaun thanked him with a grin and hopped out of the car, waving as he headed through the gates. Norman climbed out himself to make sure the kid got inside okay, returning the wave with a lop-sided smile, and folding his arms against the chilly morning air.</p><p>A skinny, shifty-looking kid of around 12 was hovering just outside the gates, eyes darting around and one hand held at an odd angle beneath his jacket. Norman frowned, adrenaline flooding his veins at the other’s posture, and stepped around the car, glancing to where Shaun was heading across the playground as he made his way over.</p><p>“Y’alright?” The kid started visibly at the question, holding the arm beneath his jacket tighter against himself and posture radiating defensiveness. There was a harsh set to his mouth, a smattering of freckles dusting his cheeks above a jaw too sharp for someone his age, but his eyes were bright with poorly-concealed fear.</p><p>“Fuck d’you care, asshole?!”</p><p>Norman suppressed a sigh and drummed his fingers against his leg, frowning sympathetically and hoping he could resolve this without incident.</p><p>“I’m a cop.” The kid started physically at that, eyes darting to the side as though about to run — before pulling a handgun from beneath his jacket, pointing it at Norman with shaking hands.</p><p>
  <em>For fuck’s sake. Can’t go ten feet without someone pullin’ a gun on me.</em>
</p><p>“Easy.” Norman raised his own hands slowly, scanning the area around him as much as he was able to without turning his head. Shaun and the other kids still in the playground were being herded quickly towards the building by a teacher, and he was aware of a clutch of bystanders buzzing with alarm on the street behind him, but there was nobody — no kids at least — near enough to get caught in the crossfire if this went any more sideways. A woman screamed suddenly behind him and he gritted his teeth, hyperaware of the kid’s finger fluttering against the trigger. “What’s your name, bud?”</p><p>The other blinked rapidly, frowning, clearly thrown by the question.</p><p>“T-Tony.” He nodded in acknowledgment, meeting the kid’s gaze solicitously and inching a step closer.</p><p>“Tony. My name’s Norman Jayden, I’m with the FBI. Listen Tony, you don’t wanna shoot anybody. I gettit; you’re angry, nobody’ll listen to you, and you feel like you’re outta options. I’ve been there. This ain’t the way to fix it.”</p><p>The kid blinked tearfully at him, breathing tightly, and started to lower the weapon — before his right hand spasmed, finger slipping against the trigger. Norman was ready for it, darting forward to thrust an arm beneath Tony’s wrists to knock his hands up and bracing himself for the blinding pain of a gunshot wound. But the bullet zipped harmlessly past his ear; he spun the kid around and clasped Tony’s wrists in a restraining grip against his chest, twisting just enough to disarm the boy and locking his free arm around the other’s shoulders to hold him in place.</p><p>The gun clattered to the tarmac and Norman kicked it away, taking stock of the situation even as his heart hammered in his chest. A glance behind him confirmed that the bullet hadn’t hit anyone, and Tony had gone limp in his hold, shaking with quiet sobs. The kid wasn’t dangerous, but he would likely bolt the second Norman let go of him. He sighed heavily, wishing he had his handcuffs, and shrugged out of his flannel with some difficulty, pulling the kid’s hands behind his back and binding his wrists with the chequered fabric using a series of improvised knots. The gun was resting a couple of inches from his feet and Norman snagged it up, popping the clip and shoving it in his jeans pocket one-handed. No way was he shoving a still-smoking pistol into his waistband; he grimaced and decided just to keep ahold of it. “Right. Where’s the principal’s office?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It took an absurdly long time for the situation to be resolved; Philadelphia PD were, predictably, about as useless at handling narrowly-averted school shootings as they were child-murderers. Norman heaved a sigh and drummed his fingers on his knees, glancing down the empty corridor either side of him. The school principal, senior staff, and cops had all grilled him at length about his purpose there, his relationship to Shaun and Ethan, his actions in apprehending the shooter, etc. etc. Now they were talking to Shaun and the other kids who’d witnessed the thing individually, along with their parents. Ethan had barely registered Norman’s presence when he’d arrived, the other man beside himself with worry for his son. He’d been relieved to be able to retreat outside; people could hit out in weird ways when their kids were threatened, and he really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that. Not for as long as he could help it, anyway; his friend would probably freak when he realised Norman had effectively joyridden his car to get here. He winced, clenching his hands into fists in a bid to stop them trembling, and shook his head clear.</p><p>The would-be shooter — Tony — had been escorted from the premises some time ago by a phalanx of police officers and social workers. He grimaced at the thought, wishing he could’ve spoken to the kid and hoping he got the help he needed. He’d never had cause to take a gun to anyone else at that age, but there’d been a couple of times when he’d come close to turning one on himself. Not like that kind of thinking was something you always grew out of, either.</p><p>Norman swallowed hard and leaned his head back against the wall, pushing the thoughts away. His hands twitched towards the breast pocket of his flannel, mind jumping reflexively to ARI’s entertainment features to fill the time, and he smiled wryly. It was just as well he’d resigned, however much it still stung to think about it; the rate he’d been using the device along with Tripto during the OK case, he’d have been lucky to make 30 if he’d kept it up.</p><p>Time seemed to stretch on interminably as he waited, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and ultimately resorting to counting the tiles in the ceiling for something to do. He was up to 469 when the door opened opposite, Ethan shepherding Shaun out carefully ahead of him before turning back to thank the principal. Norman got to his feet, wincing as his legs protested the sudden movement and feeling suddenly like a kid about to get reprimanded for skipping class.</p><p>Ethan turned on him as soon as the principal’s office door closed, expression as close to livid as he’d ever seen the other man. Norman cringed internally and braced himself, body and mind locking up automatically in anticipation of violence no matter what he did to try and stay rational. There was no case context to fall back on here, no distancing himself behind his professional mask; just someone he trusted looking ready to tear him a new one, and it felt like the floor was falling out from under his feet.</p><p>“You lied to me, you took off with my <em>kid</em> without even <em>telling</em> me — you <em>stole</em> my freaking <em>car</em>?!” Norman blinked, the words bouncing harmlessly off the mental cotton-wool of disassociation, and tried to find a response.</p><p>“I...uh...borrowed it? The car — I was gonna give it back.” He fished the keys from his pocket to illustrate, held them out hesitantly by the ring. Ethan only glared at the things as through they’d personally offended him, before stuffing them into a pocket, exhaling harshly through his nose and rubbing a hand across his eyes. Shaun was blinking curiously up at the adults from his father’s other side, clearly oblivious to the full severity of the situation. Norman smiled at the kid, anxiety spasming violently in his stomach despite himself at the thought of the boy witnessing his father angry. “Listen, Ethan — I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’, I was stupid and I messed up. My fault, all of it. I-It won’t happen again.”</p><p>The other man only shook his head and started towards the stairwell, shepherding his son in front of him; the lack of any verbal response hit Norman like a punch in the gut. He swallowed hard and shuffled his feet, shame washing through him as he scrambled to figure out where he stood. Was he still welcome to stay, still able to —</p><p>“C’mon.” Ethan’s voice sounded tired and more than a little ragged; he glanced up to see the other tick his head towards the stairwell, followed slowly behind him after a moment with a heavy feeling in his gut.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Norman couldn’t sleep that night, familiar, nauseating anxiety over being kicked out chewing at his mind for the first time in a while. Rationally he knew that Ethan had just been frantic with worry over his son, that the other man would’ve told him to leave immediately if he was going to, hell Ethan wasn’t even the type to <em>do</em> that — he was exactly the kind of guy who gave people way more chances than they deserved. But the anxiety refused to lift, fizzing like static along his bones and screwing his muscles tight with fear that any second the other man was going to slam on his door and tell him to sling his hook.</p><p>Grace had arrived to collect Shaun shortly after they’d returned home, the kid overjoyed to be missing a day of school and enthusiastically relating Agent Jayden’s capture of another bad guy to anyone who’d listen. Norman and Ethan had successfully avoided each other for the rest of the day until dinner, which had been tense: the other man had barely spoken to him, blue eyes fixed on something in the middle distance and looking deeply troubled.</p><p>Norman sighed heavily at the thought and turned over, mind drifting with a kind of inexorability to the 12 blue vials still tucked inside his suitcase. He’d been thinking about it a lot recently, whenever his attention wasn’t taken up with job-hunting or chores or social interaction or anything else engaging. Now that the worst of the physical withdrawal had passed, he’d found himself hit periodically with something he’d never expected: a purely mental craving for the fuzzy, numbed-out warmth of a really good high. The feeling seemed to hit randomly, even when he was happy and calm; some part of his brain still working out the absence of a stimulus it had grown conditioned to expect. He’d almost forgotten what a hit really felt like, was gripped by a sudden, burning curiosity to remember. Just a little wouldn’t hurt after so long, just to remind himself why he’d thought it was so good in the first place, why he’d given it up, to prove to himself and to the Tripto that he’d conquered it, that he was really clean. It would help him sleep better, too, which was an added bonus tonight given the anxiety.</p><p>Norman pushed himself up to sitting, stifling a yawn, and rubbed a hand down his face — before a creak on the landing outside made him start. The sound came again, familiar footsteps padding downstairs, before silence enveloped the house. He frowned, deliberating for a few moments, before slipping out of bed, pulling on his jeans and a fresh flannel and padding out into the hallway.</p><p>Ethan was sitting on the sofa when he came downstairs, the TV on low and playing a re-run of a recent Red Sox game. Norman hesitated, swallowing hard and reflecting that he was probably the last person the other man wanted to see right now. Still, he was within his rights to go and get a glass of water; if Ethan wanted to talk then they would, and if the other ignored him he’d just have to go back to bed and wait until he passed out from exhaustion.</p><p>“You’re awake.” Norman turned at the quiet voice, shutting off the faucet with a nod.</p><p>“Yeah. Can’t sleep. Why’re you up?”</p><p>
  <em>Real sensitive, Jayden. Jesus.</em>
</p><p>Ethan only shrugged and looked back at the TV, exhaustion clear on his face in the glow of the screen.<br/>
“Can’t sleep either. You can probably guess why.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He pursed his lips, taking a sip of water and wondering at exactly what point he was supposed to pad back upstairs and pretend he’d never gotten up. There was a long silence.</p><p>“I, uh...I never thanked you.” The words sounded more resigned than anything, Ethan rubbing a hand wearily across his eyes. “I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.” Norman shrugged awkwardly, taking another sip of water.</p><p>“From what I heard, kid had it in for a couple of assholes in the next grade who were pickin’ on him. I don’t think Shaun would’ve been in danger, even if —”</p><p>“That’s not the <em>point</em>, Jayden.” He frowned, wincing at the sting when the other used his surname. Ethan looked as though he didn’t know himself what point he was trying to make, shaking his head and frowning deeply at his hands. “I still can’t believe you stole my car.”</p><p>“Borrowed, I <em>borrowed</em> your car, Mars, and any other freakin’ day you wouldn’t have noticed.” Norman shifted, trying to find relief from the stinging cold of the kitchen tiles against his bare feet. “I took good care of it, anyway; there ain’t a scratch on it.”</p><p>“I know that! Just —” The other broke off with a harried sigh, shaking his head and looking as though he was trying to solve the world’s most complex mental puzzle and failing. There was a long, awkward silence, the television humming mutedly in the background.</p><p>“You could’ve been killed.” The words were a mutter, Ethan closing his eyes with a frown as he spoke. Norman only smiled crookedly, deflecting the concern into humour before he could stop himself.</p><p>“Aw, Mars, you were worried about me! I never knew you cared.”</p><p>“Of course I was! What —” The other broke off, shaking his head with a sigh, before looking up at him, expression open and earnest. “What d’you think it would do to Shaun, if something happened to you?! He’s already lost his brother, and after Grace and me split — hell what d’you think —” Ethan paused, grimacing hard as though fighting with himself, before looking up again, blue eyes meeting Norman’s own. “What d’you think it would do to me, if something...something happened.”</p><p>He could only stare, swallowing hard and grasping the countertop behind him as shock made the room tip at an odd angle.</p><p>
  <em>Wait, he doesn’t mean — that’s impossible. Right? He can’t mean —</em>
</p><p>“I just — I feel like I owe you, I guess.” The other man was looking at his hands, jaw tight and a faint wash of colour visible along his cheekbones. “You’re a great friend, and I’ve — me and Shaun have both gotten used to you being here. I’d feel responsible, if anything —”</p><p>“If anythin’ happened, right.” Norman nodded weakly, breathing a sigh of relief as the world righted itself on its axes.</p><p>
  <em>Right, ‘course. Jesus, get ahold of yourself Jayden — guy’s pouring his heart out here, and all you can think about is gettin’ laid. Pull it together dammit.</em>
</p><p>He wet his lips, feeling slightly woozy from shock, and drained the rest of the water, setting the glass on the side.</p><p>“Eh, y’know — I had it under control. One spooked kid with a pea-shooter ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” Ethan shook his head, frowning when he looked up at him again.</p><p>“That’s not the point<em>. </em>You already lost your job trying to help me save my son — heck, you’re not even an agent anymore, you shouldn’t have to deal with this!” Norman smiled wryly, shrugging, and leaned back against the counter, wincing at the fresh chill of the tiles as he shifted position.</p><p>“I got a knack for findin’ trouble whatever happens; you ain’t my keeper, Mars, it ain’t on you what I choose to do. Hell maybe I should rejoin the bureau — least then I’d get paid for gettin’ a gun waved in my face.”</p><p>“That’s — Christ.” The other man pinched the bridge of his nose for a few moments, shaking his head, before looking up with a sigh, blinking wearily as he looked Norman over. “D’you want to sit down? It doesn’t look very comfortable over there.”</p><p>“Oh, uh, sure. Thanks.”</p><p>Norman settled himself on the sofa with some relief, pulling his feet up onto the cushions and hugging his knees in a bid to warm up faster. His friend lifted the blanket off the back of the sofa and passed it to him without ceremony, rubbing both hands down his face as Norman pulled the soft fabric over his knees.</p><p>“I just feel so helpless. You’re a damn hero, and I just...I feel like I keep relying on you to clean up my messes. Feel like I’ve failed Shaun, <em>again</em> — I know, I <em>know</em> I can’t protect him from everything, but after...after what happened, I can’t stand the thought of something happening when I’m not there to...” The other broke off, swallowing hard and wiping a hand across his eyes. “It isn’t good for him, I know that. A boy his age needs to be out there, seeing his friends, having a normal life. I can’t push my anxieties onto him.”</p><p>Norman frowned, tilting his head slightly to meet the other’s eye.</p><p>“You’re not, Ethan. You’re — hell, you’re bein’ a great Dad, recognising that and dealing with it yourself, ‘stead of taking it out on your kid? Most folks couldn’t do that.” He clasped the other’s shoulder, squeezing gently when the other man leaned into the touch. “Most folks couldn’t have done what you did for those trials, let alone come out in one piece. Anyone’s a hero here, it’s you; I was just doin’ my job, hazard pay an’ all.” The other man quirked a smile at that and shook his head, tired blue eyes meeting his own.</p><p>“How much do they even pay you for that?” He smiled crookedly himself and shrugged, releasing the other’s shoulder.</p><p>“Eh, it depends. 500 dollars if there’s a chance of losin’ a limb; 1k for a moderate risk of death; and so on and so on.” They both chuckled, the remains of the tension in the room diffusing away to nothing. “Also, you uh, you wanna talk about cleanin’ up other people’s messes? You still got me beat about five-one on that, so don’t worry about it.”</p><p>There was silence for a time, headlight beams refracting across the walls for a moment as a car swished past outside. Ethan sighed and leaned forward across his knees, meeting Norman’s gaze evenly in the half-darkness.</p><p>“I’m sorry, for yelling at you earlier. You didn’t deserve that.”</p><p>“S’okay.” He shook his head with a crooked smile, dropping his gaze in embarrassment at the compassion and warmth in the other’s eyes. “I gettit. M’sorry I stole your car.” The other man chuckled at that, nudging his shoulder with his own.</p><p>“You got Shaun to school on time <em>and</em> prevented a damn shooting! I think that more than clears you.”</p><p>The television gave a sudden, loud murmur, and they both glanced up, watching a red-jerseyed runner slide home in a cloud of dust.</p><p>“Didn’t know you were a Red Sox fan, Mars.” His friend smiled, shaking his head with a shrug.</p><p>“It was just what was on. Honestly, I don’t watch enough baseball to have a favourite team.”</p><p>“Yeah, me neither. I mean, I know the Sox, but only ‘cause I grew up with ‘em. Kinda hard to avoid your home team whatever you do.”</p><p>“I get that. D’you, uh, d’you play any sports?” Norman shrugged, shaking his head.</p><p>“Nah, not really. Hit the gym pretty regularly for work, but that’s about it. Profiling doesn’t — er, didn’t — really leave a lot of room for downtime.”</p><p>He wet his lips, embarrassment squirming in his gut at the thought of elaborating on the one hobby he did enjoy, but Ethan was looking solicitously at him, and he was struck by a sudden urge to tell the other man. “Er — listen don’t laugh, alright? I, uh, I used to — used to play the piano quite a bit. Helps me relax, y’know? Clears my head.” The other nodded, smiling as though he’d just worked something out. “What, no pissy comments?” Ethan frowned, nudging his shoulder with a smile at Norman’s teasing grin.</p><p>“I don’t make pissy comments. But that makes sense: piano-playing must use a lot of the same skills as profiling, right? Attention to detail; mental agility; quick reflexes; fine motor dexterity...”</p><p>“I, uh, I guess so, yeah.” He smiled lop-sidedly, looking at his hands.</p><p>“I’d love to hear you play sometime, if — if you’d be comfortable with that.” Norman grinned, shaking his head.</p><p>“No you would not — I ain’t no Ludwig von anythin’, Mars. Dunno where we’d even find a piano, anyway; I used to use ARI to practice, after Joe died. He, er, he had one; old beat-up thing, used to get me to play stuff all the time when I was over there.” He shook his head, smiling at the memory. “Kinda helped me enjoy it again, y’know? My parents got me lessons as a kid, but I never wanted to sit through ‘em.”</p><p>“I can relate. Taking classes in anything sucks.” They both huffed a chuckle, watching the game for a few minutes as it wound down to its conclusion: Los Angeles Dodgers, 4; Boston Red Sox, 5.</p><p>“That settles it: you, Madison, Shaun and Chrissy are going to come shoot a few hoops with me sometime, and we’re going to come and hear you play just as soon as we can find a working piano.”</p><p>“Aw no.” Norman grimaced and pressed a hand over his eyes, shoulders hunching just at the thought. “Seriously — I’d have enough trouble playin’ in front of you, never mind three other people!”</p><p>“Well, maybe just me then.” The other man was looking warmly at him in the half-darkness, something almost like tenderness in his face. Norman cleared his throat and shook himself, scrubbing at his eyes; he seriously needed to get to bed before he started imagining anything else.</p><p>“Jeez, I uh, I gotta get to bed. You, uh...” He trailed off, stomach suddenly twisting with awkwardness. The last time they’d bunked together, he’d ended up getting wasted to deal with his out-of-control feelings, and making a complete ass of himself in front of the other man as a result. But Ethan looked completely wrung-out where he rubbed a hand across his own eyes, stifling a yawn, and his instinct was to make the same offer the other had to him the night Norman had poured his heart out to the other man. “You gonna be okay? Can always, uh, can always come crash with me if ya want.” The other only smiled lop-sidedly, shaking his head.</p><p>“S’okay; I’m alright. I’ll be up in a while. Just need to sort through some stuff.”</p><p>“Okay.” Norman nodded, folding the blanket across the arm of the sofa and getting to his feet.</p><p>“Wait, you — you said you get nightmares?” He blinked and sat back down, nodding.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Just, uh...” Ethan trailed off, looking suddenly uncomfortable where he scratched at his hair. “Sorry, I’m holding you back. Just, do they ever...get any better?” Norman sighed quietly and thought for a moment, looking at his hands.</p><p>“They do, with time. Less frequent, less...less vivid. Shrinks help; friends too, I guess; just, uh, talkin’ to people. Keeping busy, doin’ stuff you enjoy. Just, working through it, y’know? Makin’ an effort to move forward. Stuffing shit down and ignoring it never works; drugs and alcohol don’t help; and hidin’ away from stuff, like with work or whatever, just makes everythin’ worse. Far as I can tell, you’re, uh, you’re handlin’ shit pretty well.” The other only smiled wryly, shrugging.</p><p>“I’m trying. Just, between the rain, and the thing with crowds...”</p><p>“You don’t like crowds?” Norman frowned concernedly; his friend had mentioned that back at the hotel, but he’d never had a chance to ask the other about it. Ethan shook his head, grimacing hard.</p><p>“I...lost Jason in a crowd at the mall, right before —” He broke off, swallowing tightly. “Now I get panic attacks if there’s more than ten people near me. That plus worrying about Shaun every minute I’m not with him, I just...not sure I’ll ever feel normal again.” Norman frowned sympathetically, squeezing the other’s shoulder.</p><p>“You will, Ethan. You’re able to let him go to school by himself now, go to the park with friends — that’s progress in itself, right? You’ll get there. Christ, you’ve been to hell and back — it’s okay if stuff takes a bit of time to work through. Y’know?”</p><p>His friend smiled lop-sidedly and nodded, the gratitude clear in his eyes where the other met his gaze.</p><p>“Thanks, Norman. Just...for everything, for looking out for Shaun, I mean...I really appreciate you listening, too. Thank you.” He shrugged, smiling lop-sidedly himself.</p><p>“S’okay; just returning the favour, right? If you, uh, you need anythin’ later on, just say, alright? I don’t care if you wake me up; don’t sleep that deeply anyway most nights.” His friend smiled and nodded, rubbing a hand down his face as Norman got up from the sofa.</p><p>“Thanks, I’ll remember that. Same goes for me; just wake me up if you need me for anything.” He smiled at that, pausing beside the sofa.</p><p>“Thanks, Mars. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave the bathroom light on for when you come up, yeah? Don’t, uh, don’t stay up too late.” His friend smiled wearily, nodding.</p><p>“I’ll try not to.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Writing about Norman missing his Impala made me really nostalgic for early-season Supernatural lol. Also the song mentioned when he's driving Shaun to school is Feeder's "Just a Day". I feel like the lyrics are very appropriate for where his headspace is at this point in the story, and the single came out in 2001, so would be bang on the money for when Norman was in high school (there's me showing my age lol).</p><p> </p><p><span class="u">Health update:</span> Unfortunately the health issues I've been experiencing recently have really taken a nose-dive. The long and short of it is that I was almost hospitalised last week, and am now having to come to terms with having a potentially life-changing chronic condition. It's a real strain mentally and emotionally, and as you can imagine is making it incredibly difficult to focus on much of anything right now - I was only able to post this chapter because it was 95% edited already, and because I'm a stubborn bastard who was determined to update people on the situation. I am ABSOLUTELY NOT abandoning this story, and am fully determined to finish it; unfortunately it's impossible to say right now when I'll be physically and mentally able to do that. All I can do is promise that I will be back at the earliest possible opportunity. I sincerely hope that you'll be able to stick with me and these adorkable idiot boys until I can get this story finished. Thank you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Deja Vu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Deja Vu: a feeling of having already experienced the present situation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm alive! Kind of. Things are still really not great health-wise right now, but I was actually able to get on my computer and edit another chapter today, woo!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mars? Mars.” Norman knocked lightly on the other’s office door, pushing it open with a frown. “C’mon, it was lunchtime like two hours ago.”</p><p>“Mm-hm.” Ethan didn’t look like he’d moved since Norman had been in to dump a blanket on him earlier that morning in deference to the cold snap they were having. He rolled his eyes and gripped the other’s shoulder, shaking insistently until his friend looked up. “Huh?”</p><p>“Your blueprints ain’t gonna melt if you leave ‘em for five minutes, and you’ll do better work if you eat somethin’.”</p><p>“Oh, right. Wait, it’s that time <em>already</em>? I feel like I just sat down...” He smiled as the other man blinked his way back into reality, nudging his shoulder.</p><p>“C’mon, I already put the coffee on.”<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Y’know, I’m still in your house, Mars.” His friend glanced up with a frown, blinking concernedly at him.</p><p>“Er, yes? Why wouldn’t you be? Are you feeling okay, Norman?” He smiled crookedly and shook his head, swallowing the last of his grilled cheese.</p><p>“Yeah, m’fine. I just mean — y’know, I’ll have been clean for two months this week. Should probably think about movin’ along.” The other only frowned and shook his head, draining the last of his coffee.</p><p>“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Shaun’s thrilled you’re here, and I’ve got the guest room anyway; might as well have someone using it. Plus you haven’t found a job yet — there’s no reason to rush off unless you’d prefer to.” Norman smiled lop-sidedly, dropping his gaze and picking at a knot of wood in the tabletop.</p><p>“So long as I ain’t a nuisance. Although I feel like you’d tell me if I was, so.” Ethan smiled himself and shook his head, his blue eyes gentle.</p><p>“I’ll let you know if there’s a problem. I mean, there won’t be, but if it’ll make you feel more comfortable, then...I’ll let you know.” He nodded, swallowing tightly.</p><p>“Sure. Thanks, Mars.”</p><p>His friend nodded himself, grimacing as he glanced at the clock.</p><p>“God, it’s almost four. Probably time I headed out.”</p><p>“Delivery site’s still down, huh?” Norman grimaced himself, aware of the anxiety, quiet but intense, suddenly radiating from his friend. “I, uh, I can always come with, if ya want. Not gonna get any further with job-hunting today anyway, I could use some fresh air.”</p><p>“Okay. Sure, that’d, that’d be nice — I’d appreciate the company.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The grocery store was surprisingly busy for so late in the day. Norman frowned and glanced over at his friend, wondered for a second if Ethan would even be able to get out of the car with the way the other man was staring at the people milling around the entrance.</p><p>“Y’know, we don’t gotta do this. Can always come back when it’s quiet, or go someplace else —”</p><p>“It’s fine, I — I need to do this.” The other man wet his lips, knuckles beginning to show white around the steering wheel. “I need to get <em>over</em> it dammit, it’s been almost three years…”</p><p><em>“</em>Except — y’know — exposure therapy works by buildin’ up to the problem gradually, not —” He started as the driver’s door slammed, sighing, and made to get out himself. “Not jumping in at the deep end and hopin’ you can swim this time.”</p><p>Ethan was standing beside the car, right hand flexing at his side and clearly fighting to keep his breathing even. Norman frowned and padded around the front of the vehicle, stepping in front of his friend to try and distract him from the crowds. “Hey, it’s okay. Yeah? You got the list there?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Ethan lifted his phone in acknowledgement, swallowing hard, his gaze still fixed on the people milling around. Norman grimaced and took the other gently by the shoulders, waiting until his friend’s glassy eyes refocussed on him.</p><p>“Hey. Listen, how’s about...How’s about we go in, and you just stay for as long as you’re comfortable. We ain’t gotta rush, and if things get bad, you come back out here and I’ll pick up the rest of the stuff. That sound okay?”</p><p>Ethan sighed heavily and nodded, the tension easing visibly from his shoulders as he shut his eyes for a moment.</p><p>“Yeah. That...that sounds do-able.” The other smiled faintly, before the tension was back in his face, his gaze flickering beyond Norman again. He glanced round himself with an inward grimace, squeezing his friend’s shoulder as they watched the people buzzing around the storefront.</p><p>“Okay. I’m gonna be right here with you the whole time; you gotta bail, just lemme know and we’ll leave. No big deal. Alright?”</p><p>“Alright.” He returned the other’s weak smile crookedly, patting his shoulder.</p><p>“Great.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The store itself was actually far less busy than it looked once inside. They kept to the empty isles as much as possible, Norman maintaining a steady stream of chatter and pointing out random products to his friend whenever Ethan started to look nervous, and the other man slowly began to relax as they worked their way around the store. He started to engage more with what Norman was saying, and his knuckles no longer showed white around the handle of the shopping cart.</p><p>“Y’know Mars, if I’m gonna be stayin’ with you guys any longer I should really get my own bedsheets.” Norman gestured to the linen on sale with a grin, lifting a particularly nice, emerald-green set off the rack. His friend only smiled lop-sidedly and gestured to the cart, shaking his head.</p><p>“You should probably get some new clothes, too.”</p><p>“Good point. Dunno if the severance package’ll cover it though; might have to wait a while.”</p><p>“Get yourself some new shirts, at least; call it a present, for, uh, y’know.” The other shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “It’ll be two months this Saturday, right? I, uh, should probably get you something for that.” Norman smiled himself and shook his head, touched by the offer.</p><p>“Ah, it’s alright; you’ve already done a helluva lot helpin’ me out. But, er, if you’re insistin’...only shirts?” Ethan actually chuckled at that, shoving his shoulder.</p><p>“Get yourself one decent outfit, at least. I don’t want to embarrass you, but I also don’t want you running out of clothes on my watch.” He nodded, grinning.</p><p>“Noted. You, uh, you gonna be okay if I swing by the clothes section real quick?” Ethan looked uncertain for a moment, before nodding, frowning with a quiet determination Norman recognised from when he’d first met the other man.</p><p>“I’ll be fine. If I need to go, I’ll ring you.”</p><p>“Sure. I’ll be quick.”</p><p>He headed off in the direction of the clothes, mentally collating the cheapest set of items he could buy whilst still technically adhering to the stipulation of ‘one decent outfit.’</p><p>
  <em>Jeez. Feels like we’ve got some kinda platonic sugar-daddy thing goin’ on here.</em>
</p><p>He chuckled at the thought, pausing for a moment beside the fish counter as a glistening slab of salmon caught his eye.</p><p>
  <em>Man that looks good. Maybe I can persuade Mars to push the boat out and get some for dinner.</em>
</p><p>He turned, aware of a presence behind him — before rough hands grabbed his shoulders, a weight barrelling into his back and sending him sprawling on the tiled floor. Norman threw his arms out instinctively to catch himself, grimacing as the impact of the fall sent pain spiking through his forearms and immensely grateful that he hadn’t hit his head or jaw.</p><p>“You lost me my fuckin’ job, asshole!”</p><p><em>Shit</em>.</p><p>Norman struggled instinctively, trying to kick his way free, but his ex-colleague was kneeling on him, pinning him to the floor. He found himself wrestled onto his back, blinking as a dishevelled Carter Blake stared murderously down at him. The other man reeked of alcohol. “Lights out, faggot.”</p><p>“Blake —” He flinched at the smash of glass beside his ear, horror gripping him as the other man raised the jagged remains of a bottle, adjusting his grip on the neck to angle it forward and down. “Blake no — <em>fuck</em>, Blake stop, please — STOP —”</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath — before the other’s weight was gone from his chest, a crash sounding somewhere to his right followed by raised voices and the sound of a scuffle. Norman blinked his eyes open, panting, lay still for a couple of seconds to get his bearings before scrambling to his feet.</p><p>Blake was wrestling with someone on the ground, the bottle discarded behind him. Norman grabbed it up, grimacing as the glass sliced his fingers, and threw it beneath a nearby display, striding forwards to pull his ex-colleague off the guy. “Blake —” Norman froze as familiar, bright blue eye met his own over the other’s shoulder, a white-hot rage he hadn’t known he was capable of flooding through him.</p><p>He grappled the ex-cop bodily around the waist and hauled him off his friend, Blake swinging round to face him with a roar. Norman braced his feet against the tiles and raised his fists, darting easily out of range of the other man’s punches and waiting for an opportunity. It came: Blake’s next punch went wide and he ducked around it, grabbing the front of the other’s shirt and punching him full in the face like he’d wanted to since his second meeting with the man. There was a crunch as cartilage and bone gave under his knuckles, his hand coming away bloody as Blake howled in pain. Norman spun the other quickly around and kicked him in the back of the knees, wrestling Blake none-too-gently to the ground and kneeling his full weight on top of him. “Carter Blake, you’re under arrest for aggravated assault and attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent; anythin’ you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” He glanced around, panting, grabbed up a tie from an overturned clothing display to bind the other’s hands with.</p><p>“You can’t arrest me, asshole, you’re not even a cop anymore!” Blake spat, struggling uselessly as he secured the other’s wrists.</p><p>“It’s called a citizen’s arrest, Blake. Probably not somethin’ you’re familiar with, seein’ as anyone who pisses you off ends up dead!”</p><p>He shook his head wearily, feeling suddenly weak as the anger and adrenaline began to drain out of him. Bystanders were starting to gather around them, the shouts of security guards ringing through the store above the steady buzz of the onlookers. Norman scanned around, panic blooming in his chest when he realised he couldn’t see Ethan.</p><p>“<em>Shit</em> — Ethan?! <em>Ethan</em>!” He looked frantically between the crowds of people and his captured suspect, torn. He couldn’t leave Blake in case the other got free, hurt more people — but not knowing whether his friend was okay was almost choking him with terror.</p><p><em>Fuck. Can’t knock him out — tiled floor, could fuckin’ kill the bastard — even if he deserves it, I can’t — </em>dammit<em> all —</em></p><p>“Norman?!” He looked up with a start, gasping with relief as familiar blue eyes met his own. Ethan’s face was the picture of relief himself, the other man smiling shakily as he nudged his way through the crowd towards him. Security had finally gotten there, Norman standing up and stumbling away from Blake’s prone form as they moved to apprehend the man. He turned to find his friend just behind him, pulled the other into a tight hug before he even knew what he was doing. “Oof. Easy, easy; s’okay.” Ethan wrapped his arms around him immediately in response, holding him close and putting a hand to his hair; Norman buried his face in the other’s shoulder for a moment, holding him tight as relief washed through him. “You okay?” He nodded, holding the other at arm’s length to check him over.</p><p>“M’fine — what about you?!” His friend was shivering in his hold, probably from anxiety as much as the spike in adrenaline.</p><p>“Fine; winded, and a few bruises, but nothing worse than I’ve had before. More shaken up than anything.” The other smiled weakly, nudging his shoulder. “Told you you’re a hero, didn’t I?” He huffed a chuckle, shaking his head tiredly.</p><p>“An’ <em>I</em> told <em>you</em> I got a knack for findin’ trouble whatever I’m doin’. <em>Jesus</em>.”</p><p>Norman rubbed a hand across his eyes, feeling himself begin to shake uncontrollably from a combination of adrenaline crash and the remnants of withdrawal.</p><p>“You’re in shock. C’mon, we should go sit down.”</p><p>“You’re in shock too, idiot.” He frowned as his friend led the way to an aisle outside the immediate radius of the incident, Ethan pulling him down to the floor to sit beside him. “Quit worryin’ about me all the time; you should think about yourself.”</p><p>“Hypocrite.” He only chuckled weakly, leaning into the other as Ethan slung an arm around him, pulling him close. His head drifted to the other’s shoulder from pure exhaustion, but Ethan didn’t seem to mind; he let himself slump against the other man with a sigh, shutting his eyes.</p><p>“They’ll call an ambulance, right?” He nodded, not bothering to open his eyes.</p><p>“There’s been at least one assault; s’protocol. It’s, what, six pm on a Tuesday; give ‘em about fifteen minutes.”</p><p>“We should probably go and get checked out. I know you hate hospitals, but —”</p><p>“S’alright; I’ll go. Know you’ll freak out if I don’t.” He felt as much as heard the other laugh, winced slightly as he shifted position. His arms ached, but nothing felt bitingly insistent enough to be a broken bone, and although his fingers stung the cuts weren’t deep enough to be an infection risk so long as he cleaned them out. All in all, a much more favourable outcome than could have been expected if he’d been here by himself.</p><p>A burly security guard approached to question them a few minutes later, an assortment of store workers milling around to secure the area and move the muttering bystanders along. The police and an ambulance were indeed on their way, and Blake had been removed from the shop floor, likely to the security room or at least out of public view. Someone handed Norman an orange shock blanket, and he tucked it around them both, grateful for the added excuse to huddle into the other man as much as much as for the assistance in keeping them warm.</p><p>“Seriously.” His friend nudged his shoulder, frowning worriedly at him. “You’re okay, right? You’d tell me if you weren’t?” Norman smiled lop-sidedly, nodding.</p><p>“Y’know I would, Mars. M’fine. Bruised, cut up my hands some, and my arms are killin’ me where I landed on ‘em, but nothin’ feels broken. You all good?”</p><p>“M’fine; like I said, just shaken. We should stay still; try to relax.” He nodded, shutting his eyes again wearily for a few moments, before blinking them open with a frown.</p><p>“Why were you even there? You were halfway across the store when I left.” Ethan chuckled quietly, shaking his head where the other met his gaze.</p><p>“I was gonna remind you to buy some shoes. I recognised Blake from before, and when he attacked you I just — just acted without thinking I guess.” Norman nodded, focussing on the tiles in front of them where a bottle of mustard had burst all over.</p><p>“Thank you. I’d, uh, probably have lost my face if you hadn’t been there.” His friend didn’t respond, only frowned deeply and tightened his hold around him. Norman found his head resting on the other’s shoulder again; it was an extremely comfortable position, even given his injuries. He shut his eyes with a sigh, quirking a smile despite himself and deciding just to enjoy the warmth, the closeness for as long as it lasted.</p><p>“I, uh, I never did tell you why I hate hospitals, huh?” He felt Ethan shake his head, his friend’s chin nudging his temple with the movement.</p><p>“I just assumed...y’know. Past injuries. They’re not exactly top of the list of fun places for most people.” He chuckled quietly, huddling closer as the other man adjusted his hold.</p><p>“Yeah. I, uh, I got scarlet fever one time as a kid, really bad. Landed myself in there for about two weeks. No-one explained why, or what was wrong with me. Saw my parents exactly twice — once when I went in, and once when I got out. Figured they’d dumped me in there for good ‘cause I’d been a bad kid.”</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>, Norman.” He felt the other stiffen, Ethan looking at him aghast when he opened his eyes. “That’s...<em>fuck</em>. I don’t even know what to say.” He only shrugged, smiling wryly.</p><p>“Yeah. They, uh, they weren’t exactly parent-of-the-year material, put it that way. Kicked me out when they found out I was...y’know. Battin’ for the wrong team.” His friend only frowned deeply, tightening his hold around his shoulders.</p><p>“God, I’m...I’m so sorry. You’re even more of a credit to yourself then, doing all you’ve done without their help. Just — I’m so sorry you had to go through that, you...deserved so much better. Y’know?” He blinked, surprised by the last sentence, smiled a trifle uncertainly at the other man.</p><p>“Thanks, Mars. That...that really means a lot.” His friend only shrugged, smiling lop-sidedly back.</p><p>“S’okay; it’s true.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Say it with me y'all: low-key grocery store date! </p><p> </p><p>I can't say when the next chapter will be up sorry, since it's long and requires a lot of edits, and my strength and ability to focus are in very short supply right now. I promise I will get back to it just as soon as I can! Thank you so much for your patience, and for sticking with me and this story until I can get back to writing and updating properly again.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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